


#PRIDE

by magalix3



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Alternate Universe - Sports, Angst, Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Drag Queens, Drunk Sex, Eventual Relationships, Fluff, Friendship, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Emotional Abuse, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Romance, Smut, Social Media, polyamorous side pairing, various side pairings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-07-17 18:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 68,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16101602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magalix3/pseuds/magalix3
Summary: Jackson’s life feels like a run-on sentence, there’s too much happening and he doesn’t know how it’s gotten to his point; where everything’s wildly out of his control and his parents don’t treat him like a son but a trainee, and the only goal in his life is the Gold but he’s not even sure that’s his goal, and he doesn’t feel comfortable in his own skin, and he doesn’t know what to do or who to ask for help.Until Mark accidentally slips into his life, and helps him slow down. Refocus.





	1. The Olympic Fencer Jackson Wang

**Author's Note:**

> NOTES PLEASE READ!!!!!  
> /reemerges from the shadows of real life hello there frens here ya go  
> \- i know nothing of sports why do i keep writing sports aus!!! this au is totally out of my realm and i honestly gave up on this fic like 3 times. but it's so long and i didnt want to abandon it. any comments will be appreciated. if anything is too far-fetched just lmk. i tried.  
> \- there will also be mentions of internalized homophobia, homophobic language and panic attacks (just in case ;;;)  
> don’t drink and drive  
> \- there are drag queens in this fic so i’d like to say something: sometimes it’s cool to just ask what pronouns a person prefers :)  
> \- f(x) have a huge part in this and amber/luna (sunyoung) are a couple. i didn’t tag them because they’re not ever really a ~focus  
> \- always have protected sex  
>  **don’t drink and drive**
> 
> this fic is **finished** and i will update every few days or so (understand that i’m busy) 
> 
> did y’all make it until here omg i think that covers everything thanks guys

It’s almost two in the morning. Jackson can’t recall the last time he stayed out so late, or the last time he got so wasted, or the last time he got laid. He lives on a tight schedule and a tighter dietary regime. His last drink had been hours ago, but he’s a lightweight despite his bulky size, and he’s eaten a handful of greasy sliders that was just enough to mop up the alcohol and leave him feeling a little more sober, a little more in control of his thoughts and hands...

… Even though he’s currently following the hottest guy at the bar down a hallway in an apartment complex totally unfamiliar. It’s cute; the elevator plays soft tunes and the hallway is painted a pastel green with pretty, fake orchids sitting on either side of the elevator. It’s quaint. 

Okay so, maybe he’s not in as much control as he’d like to admit. It’s nothing new. 

The blond guy that Jackson’s been following goes down the hall to the last door on the left, and sticks his keys in the door with a steady hand. He’s more sober than Jackson - still shouldn’t of driven - but still trips over his shoes as he kicks them off. Jackson follows suit, dropping his sneakers by the blond guys, ignoring the pile of shoes that hint towards Blond Guy having roommates, and follows him through a dark living room, down a small hallway that’s lit only by a small night light plugged into the wall. It casts a rainbow of stars on the opposite side. Cute.

Jackson stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, adjusting quickly to the darkness, doing his best to be as quiet as possible as he shuts the bedroom door, as the blond guy clicks on the bedside lamp and turns to face his guest for the night. The guy’s high cheekbones are highlighted by the shadows, the dark roots of his hair seem deeper, and he drops his keys and dumps the contents of his jean pockets - wallet, phone, a pack of gum, right on the floor, on the rug at his feet. Mildly, Jackson thinks the plush pink rug is cute, the over-all pink theme of the room is cute (there’s a Pokemon poster on the closet door.) But there are hands on the front of his shirt and the blond guy leans in. Close. His breath smells fruity like the flavored rum he’d been drinking. 

The whole room stops spinning and Jackson feels his heart pulsing in his neck. Right. He’s not here to stare at the furniture.

“You good?”

Jackson wonders if he’s supposed to thank the guy for double checking to make sure they’re on the same page. Like, hey, thanks for making sure even though we’ve made it to the bedroom. Consent is cool. But there’s still a twinge of liquid courage from the whiskey from the bar that leaves jumbled words of appreciation aside to instead dip forward and press his lips against the blond’s. To show it’s very much mutual.

What the fuck is he doing.

The kiss is strong. Jackson leans forward into it to get his point across. He feels confidence burst underneath his skin and into his fingertips and he follows that surge, reaching out to touch the guy; hold him by his thin waist.

“Thank God,” The guy mumbles as they break for a second, as Jackson pulls away to make sure that this is still mutual on the other end of this. Even though he really shouldn’t be here. Even though he should’ve taken the chance to call this off.

The blond guy wraps both arms around Jackson’s shoulder and yanks him in for another kiss, hard and passionate, reminding Jackson that he’s never had a one-night stand before. He’s not sure how and where to take it from here. 

He rushes to chase the taste of pineapple and coconut, licking into the blond guys mouth to follow it. His heart-rate skyrockets; he’s excited, less nervous, letting his body guide itself. It’s safe to assume, judging by the way the smaller man pulls on Jackson’s clothes, rushing to get him naked as soon as possible, that neither of them are trying to take it slow. The alcohol floods through Jackson’s veins and he’s pulling off his own clothes, getting too hot too fast, too eager to spread the blond boy out and get between his legs.

Clad only in their boxers by the time they reach the bed, they break apart only long enough to get fully naked. Jackson makes his way to climb over the blond, but he’s stopped by a grip he hadn’t been anticipating. Maybe it’s time to call this off.

Jackson reels back, kneeling between the blond’s spread knees. “I’m sorry, do you want to stop?” 

“Holy fuck.”

Jackson halts, watching how the blond’s gaze rakes up and down his body, wildly unfiltered with desire. “Holy. _Fuck_.” He reiterates, looking stunned. 

Years and years of practice have shaped Jackson into what he is now; an athlete. And his build is firm and chiseled. He knows people appreciate it. But having someone look at him like this; with desire burning, while the blond guy takes the time to stop what they’re doing so he can touch and admire, gives Jackson a sense of pride that fuels him. He leans forward, boxing the smaller man in. And the blond looks thrilled, running his hands over the slope of Jackson’s biceps, his other hand running over the plains of Jackson’s sides. 

“What’s your name?”

Jackson leans forward, lowering his body over the blond’s so he can feel the press of their thighs. He’s hard muscle, wants the attention, and grins as the blond shivers.

“I’m Jackson. What’s yours?”

“Mark.” He arches, one hand still feeling Jackson’s bicep, one hand running over his shoulder blades, his the rest of his body trying to press as close as he can. “Please,” He says, eyes closing and mouth falling open. “Fuck me.”

It’s been a really long time since Jackson got laid. An embarrassingly long time. Hopefully he can last long enough to impress.

Mark hands him the lube and condom, and Jackson’s a little glad they’re just jumping right to it. He’s already too excited, precum dripping over Mark’s stomach. He lubes up his fingers and reaches down. Mark reaches over to guide him, and winces when a careful finger pushes in.

He tries to be as gentle as he can, starting with one finger, coaxing out small whimpers and groans from Mark. He pushes in a second only when he’s given the go, licking at Mark’s neck, hoping to leave a red mark, tasting sweat. Jackson twists his fingers and works up to three fingers, when Mark’s breathing is thin and rapid, hands rubbing up and down Jackson’s back, up and down his arm, appreciating everything Jackson’s worked hard for.

“Fuck me,” Mark grumbles against Jackson’s shoulder, biting the skin until it stings. Jackson jumps and gasps, pulling fingers out and rushing to get a condom on.

Mark lifts his hips and brings his legs around a strong waist. Jackson had one hand holding himself up and the other he uses to hold Mark by his lower back, positioning them. Just as he pushes in, screwing his eyes shut and breathing out a held breath, Mark grabs him by his hair and yanks him down for a kiss. Jackson groans into his mouth, distracting both of them with his tongue and small noises, until he’s fully in, hips pressed flush, and Mark’s panting. Mark’s grabbing at his skin and Jackson burns where he’s touched. He keeps one hand around Mark’s middle, gripping him by the waist with a strong palm and Mark keens, snapping his hips as Jackson pulls back. Slowly. Testingly.

“Please,” Mark breathes into his mouth, biting on his lip. 

Jackson fists the sheets and closes his eyes, delving his tongue deep into Mark’s mouth, pushing forward. Fast and hard. He stills for a second and sucks in a deep breath, Mark tugging at his hair desperately.

Jackson pushes forward again with more vigor, and that’s all it takes for him to lose himself. They kiss open mouthed and filthy, all wet tongue, Jackson’s hand still gripping Mark’s waist and Mark’s hand lost in Jackson’s hair. Jackson fucks Mark into the mattress, relentless, until they’re panting into each other’s mouths and skin, until Mark’s head falls back against the pillows and his eyes stayed screwed shut. He thrusts into Mark’s pliant, begging body, releasing his hold only after a little while to lean back. 

Mark watches him, traces the curves of his abs with shaking fingers, while Jackson throws Mark’s legs over his shoulders and continues, moving his hips with recklessness, watching how Mark comes undone; how his body bounces under Jackson’s command, how he reaches back with one hand to grip the sheets, mouth open in a silent cry. Mark works his fist on his erection, and is soon blubbering Jackson’s name, warning him that he’s almost there. Jackson uses his strength to keep Mark’s hips where he wants them, and throws his head back as his body starts to coil, pleasure pooling in his gut, his heartbeat pulsing and his mind wiped completely blank. All he can focus on is coming.

He spreads his thighs, changes the angle, and Mark arches clear off the bed with a sob. 

“There. There - _oh_ ,” 

Jackson continues his hard pace, feeling his gut tighten and he listens to the sounds of their bodies and they finish within seconds of each other. Jackson cums so hard he blanks for a second, dizzy as he comes down, as he pulls out and leaves Mark an immobile mess on the sheets. When the condom is pulled off, Jackson reaches for his shirt without thinking.

“No, no, dude. In the dresser. Bottom drawer.”

The room isn’t very big, so Jackson crosses it in a few strides. He finds washcloths, and uses one to wipe off his still sensitive dick, nearly sobbing at how it feels as he rubs himself dry. Then he takes another one over the bed, and starts to wipe down the blond.

Mark lifts his head, carefully watching Jackson wipe off his hand and stomach. Was this not okay?

“Thanks…?”

Jackson ignores Mark’s stiff reaction and throws the dirty rags on the floor and collapses on the bed, burying his face into the pillows. He wants to sink in and sleep the next day away. It feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He can breathe.

“I haven’t been fucked that hard in…” Mark’s still breathless. “A long fuckin’ time.”

Jackson hums, lying with his cheek against the pillow so he can see the blond. He hums again. He has no more energy for anything else. His eyes slip close as Mark’s does.

He wasn’t supposed to be here tonight, fucking a stranger as if there won’t be any repercussions. Nor should be falling asleep in this man’s bed, as if he doesn’t have a reputation that’ll be shredded by this. 

He falls asleep anyway.

**\------------------------------------------------**

Being a professional fencer with a tight practice schedule, Jackson hasn’t slept past seven in God knows how long. So no matter how much his exhausted, hungover self wants to stay in bed, his eyes crack open at seven on the dot.

Jackson remembers the night before in a rush. He feels good way down in his soul, though, because of a good, hard fuck.

It takes a great deal of effort to unwrap himself from the sleeping boy, and even though his thighs burn and his abs clench sorely from the night before, he feels a little good. 

No, he feels really good, as he stretches out, reaching for the ceiling and feeling his body pop back into place. There had been a lot of stress on his shoulders and this new lightweight feeling feels great. He’s going to allow himself to soak in it for a while. At least until he gets home.

Only remembering a little from last night, Jackson finds his clothes and pulls them on. They feel too tight. He remembers there were other doors in the apartment; a pile of shoes by the door, hinting at roommates. It’d be best to avoid them completely and slide outside to call an Uber, so he can get back to the bar where his car is parked. 

The door doesn’t creak as its’ pushed open, Jackson makes little to no noise as he gathers his things and picks up his keys, but nearly trips over something at his feet right outside the door. 

A little white dog stares up at him, seemingly not offended that she’d just been kicked. She sticks her tongue out and wags her poofy tail, and all of Jackson’s self-control goes out the window. He loves dogs, so he swoops down to pick her up and bring her close to his face. He’s bombarded with kisses from her little sandpaper tongue, and she’s jumping in his arms to try and reach every inch of his face.

“Hey, can you feed -”

Jackson whips around, holding the dog a little closer to his chest. 

“You’re not Mark.” 

The handsome guy is brunet, hair a mess, features soft. He purses his lips and gives Jackson a good once-over, suspicious and… Jackson’s not sure what else. He reaches for the dog and pulls her into his arms, sparing a second to give Jackson a quick once over. Being somewhat of a celebrity, Jackson knows when someone considers him familiar. The expression isn’t quite there on the roommate’s face, but he’s staring. He’s not moving. It’s coming. His eyebrows press together and he looks significantly less offended.

“Do you go to USC?”

“No,” Jackson’s stepping back, physically distancing himself from this conversation. “Never went to college. Where’s your bathroom?”

The brunet points down the hall towards the living room. “First door, there.” And now he’s doing it. That face. He swears he’s seen Jackson somewhere before. But he lets it go, instead moving into the kitchen where the sounds and smells of a breakfast meal are tempting.

Things are so much more awkward now. Jackson just wants to pee and run, so he swerves into the bathroom and -

-two more. Two more fuckin’ roommates. In the bathroom.

Maybe it’d be best if he just peed outside, at this rate.

One of the guys looks awfully familiar, but Jackson doesn’t want to think about it right now. 

“Who’re you?” The one sitting on the counter glares accusingly, one eye sharp with eyeliner smudged on the top lid and the other plain, but still strikingly beautiful. And the other guy, positioned between the other’s legs, one hand poised in the air with an eyeliner pencil, glances back over his shoulder. He’s so pretty, the undercut of his hair is dark, probably it’s natural color, but the top part is a bright blue, pulled into an adorable bun on his head.

“Oh, that’s the dude Markie brought home.” He says easily, turning back to the other one with the sharp cheekbones, sharp chin - just, sharp. He’s uncomfortably hot. He’s in a tank top and the poignant, oceanic colors of his full-sleeve tattoo are proudly displayed and eye-catching.

But Jackson’s still really gotta pee.

“I didn’t know he was bringing anyone back.” Tattoo guy says, frowning as Blue-hair goes back to his make up. 

“Yeah, he texted me about it.” Blue-hair says, hands back on tattoo guy’s face. “Good morning.”

It takes a second for Jackson to realize that had been directed at him, and he squeaks out a proper good morning, feeling tiny with the way the guy on the counter stares at him. 

“Do you need something?” Tattoo guy is still mean mugging him, but his face relaxes and he gestures with his hand towards the toilet beside the sink, realizing why Jackson’s here. “Go ahead.”

Jackson’s sure his expression reads as scandalized as he feels. “With you in here?” His voice shoots up an octave and the two roommates chuckle at it.

“Please. I know what a dick looks like.” Blue-hair says, putting down the eyeliner. He digs through the open drawer at his side - which looks like a whole Sephora counter, and pulls out a tiny tube. Whatever it is gets smeared on hot-guy’s under eyes.

Jackson tells himself that it’s not much different than a public bathroom. Like peeing with someone at the urinal over. Yeah, it’s cool. Besides, neither guy even blink his direction. There’s enough space for him to wash his hands when he’s done without interrupting the beauty session, and he slides out of the bathroom without another word from the two, through the living room, ignoring that the guy from the hallway is with another roommate, and nearly flings the front door open in a mad haste to get outside. He pulls his sneakers on in the elevator, catching his breath as it dings down to the lobby from the fourth floor.

With his heart racing and his chest burning and his face flushed in embarrassment, Jackson tucks away this moment to tell his friends, years from now, when he can look back at it without wanting to bury himself alive. 

The fresh air outside feels really nice. The springtime morning is cool against his skin. Jackson takes a moment to just breathe it in and relax, trying to bring back that calmness from when he was still in bed.

“Hey, Jackson?”

Jackson spins around so fast that whiplash nearly knocks him over. Mark is standing there in his boxers, rubbing tiredly at his face. He looks even more beautiful in the sunlight, fresh hickeys pretty and purple against his pale skin. Jackson’s handprint looks so bright and offensive on his waist. 

Oh. He didn’t realize he had done that.

“You don’t have to go. Not right away.” It’s a sweet offer. Jackson wonders if this is a typical part of morning afters. “Come eat, first.” Mark sounds tired and looks a little worn out. His offer feels better than the sun on their backs.

“I can’t stay,” Jackson glances at his phone - 8% battery, 7:18 on Friday morning - and ignores the texts from his friends. “I have practice at eight. I wanna shower and all my stuffs at home.”

“Okay,” Mark nods, avoiding his gaze. “Wait a minute.” He walks back inside, the pretty sketched watercolor ink on the backs of his calves are summertime and beautiful. Jackson wants to ask him what the three flower tattoos mean, two sunflowers on one calf and a tulip on the other, both splattered in vibrant color, but thinks it’s too personal. 

So Jackson stands outside for a few minutes, closing his eyes and ignoring his mother’s phone call. He never even told her he’d be going out. Going home is going to be a shitshow.

Mark comes back out with a sweater and flip-flops on, car keys swinging from his hand. Jackson gets into the Kia with him, and rolls the windows down. 

Everything seems weird and disjointed. The ride isn’t very long, so when Mark tries to start a conversation - “What do you have practice for?” “Uh, fencing.” - it doesn’t go anywhere else. They’ve reached the bar by that time, and Jackson’s blue Subaru is right where he left it. 

“Thanks for the ride.”

And the sex.

Thanks a lot for the sex.

It was great.

“Was last night your first night here?” Mark manages to make that sound not creepy, asking shyly and quietly. But Jackson doesn’t know how to answer that. He’s never been to a gay bar before. Last night had been a risky venture and probably the last time he’ll do this. He’d snuck out for this. He hadn’t told anyone, not even his best friend who would’ve celebrated and come along. He’s too afraid to explore this in fear that someone will notice him. It’s been a while since he’s accepted himself, but isn’t comfortable with the news spreading when he’s not ready for it to. 

He really, really, shouldn’t of gone home with a guy from the bar.

Sensing his disarray, Mark rewords his question. “Will I see you again?”

Jackson pulls out his phone, 5% battery, and opens up a new contact. “Can we?”

While Mark inputs his number in and then calls his own cell so he has Jackson’s, Jackson wonders if this is how hook-ups are supposed to work. Did he just become a booty call?

Things are left up in the air. Jackson doesn’t kiss Mark good-bye, but he brushes his thumb along his chin with a soft smile. “I’ll call you later.” He promises, hoping it sounds sweet enough and not weird.

Jackson gets into his car and plugs his phone in, forcing the thought of pretty Mark and his pretty lips out of his mind to brace himself for what’s to come when he gets home.

 

 

No amount of preparation can really gear him up for this though. Not even the padding he wears for fencing could save him.

Jackson comes from a strict household. His dad is an Olympic coach and his mother is a sports commentator, and even though it’s a modest spotlight, Jackson’s not exactly a nobody. He’s not horribly famous, but his Instagram account is verified, associates give him discounts at shops, he has featured in men’s health magazines before, gets free sneakers from companies and has a manager to handle all this for him. 

With the pressure of his parents expectations and societies constant scrutiny on the back of his mind, Jackson sits at the kitchen table, unable to feel the sunlight streaming in from the massive floor to ceiling windows behind him. The house is huge, spacious and ostentatious. His reflection shines off marble floors and there’s space for everything, even the useless potted plants rowed up and down the staircase, and the armoire in the dining room that showcases handmade dishware they’ll never ever use. 

It’s always felt normal. All of Jackson’s friends and family have large houses that sit at the top of the hills in LA. But after last night, after being in a bedroom that’s the size of his bathroom, and this morning, in a living room and kitchen space that’s the size of his foyer, it feels too large. Too open. Unsafe.

His parents are about to ground him for life, lock him in his room like a Disney princess and throw away the key. He accepts it. It’s fine if he can’t go out after practice until further notice. It’s happened before.

There are no safe answers for their questions. They don’t know. They don’t know he’s gay. And suddenly he feels dirty. He can smell the dried cum on his stomach and he can feel Mark’s wetness against his fingers. He worries his parents can smell it, but they’re more worried about other things. 

“Who were you with? Were you drinking? Are you trying to ruin your chances of gold?”

Jackson looks up at that, his hands clasped together, squished between his thighs. About an hour ago he’d been relieved, feeling loose and untroubled but now his father is just watching while mother yells.

“Answer me! Are you looking for another scandal?!”

And that fuckin hurts. Jackson forces back a sob. “With a friend. I was with Amber.”

Sophia is clearly not convinced. She’s slipped into Mandarin, her native tongue, and the harshness of the quick syllables bring shame. “Then why didn’t you call?”

“I didn’t think. I’m sorry. Mom - I’m gonna be late for practice.”

His father puts a hand on her shoulder and she simmers down, rubbing at her forehead. Jackson makes his escape, zooming through the kitchen and running up the stairs two at a time, ignoring the trophies and awards lining the walls. He shoves his clothes into the hamper and takes a shower in scalding water, rubbing at his skin until he’s red all over. 

But he can still feel Mark’s lips against his neck, fingers tracing his abs and over the head of his dick.

Drama Llama  
_[March 4]_

  
can you cover for me?  
8:08a  <

u late af  
what am i covering u for?  
> 8:10a

i went out last night and my parents think i was with you  
8:12a <

o sure dude i got u  
where’d u go :))))))))  
> 8:17a

okay but seriously where r u coach is gonna blow his lid  
> 8:18a

i’m coming!!! i’m running late  
because  
i  
went out  
8:20a <

well i mean yea i got that much. u hungover??? practice is gonna suck and im NOT gonna go easy on u  
prepare to D-D-D-DUEL!!!!!!!!  
> 8:22a

i went to that club/bar place i mentioned  
8:24a <

and i got only a little drunk, okay???  
and then came home this morning  
8:25a <

hold the FUCK UP  
> 8:30a

????  
8:32a <

yeah.  
8:35a <

uhhhhhhhhhhhh this is big news and i am not talking abt it thru text GET YOUR ASS HERE  
> 8:40a

Amber is blonde. Not the same shade of platinum blond as Mark is, hers a little more honey, and Jackson hates that he’s thinking about Mark right now, as Amber looks at him like that. Like she’s being served the best cake around. After a grueling, exhaustive practice, Jackson takes her out for tacos and spills all the beans from the night before. Amber doesn’t hold back.

“You’re telling me,” She flips her snapback so its’ backwards. “That you went to a gay bar on an impulse, without me, and ended up getting some ass?”

Jackson buries his face in his hands. “Yeah.”

“Damn.” Is all she says, and all the possible translations of that word hang awkwardly. Jackson motions at her to continue and she shrugs. “No, like, damn is the only word I can offer up right now. How do you feel?”

There are no words to describe how out of sorts Jackson feels.

“I’m glad though.” Amber softens up and Jackson wants to cry. She’s a wonderful friend. “It’s about time you got out there. I was really starting to worry, you’ve been caging this in for way too long.”

“I’m afraid to tell my parents.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t figured it out, considering your friends.”

“My only real friends are you, Sunyoung, Victoria and Luhan.”

“Yeah, and Sunyoung’s my girlfriend and we’re all gay. You hang out with a bunch of gay girls. A bunch of gal-pals. And then Luhan, who is the gayest man China’s ever seen. Why do they still think he’s straight?” After a pause, Amber loudly slurping on a fountain soda, she adds, “Maybe everyone thinks you’re a straight dude with a thing for lesbians.”

Jackson groans and bangs his head against the table. “Do I really come off like that?”

“I mean, I don’t think so, because I know you’re into dudes. But maybe to your parents?”

It’s definitely plausible. Jackson has his moments, but he doesn’t “act gay.” Whatever that bullshit means. As if wanting to be romantically and physically with a guy isn’t enough to prove his sexuality.

“Maybe you should do something a little gay. Like, like a picture of two guys kissing on Instagram, so your fans all see it. Or make a vague dating comment at the next interview. Or, hm, dye your hair. Get the Internet thinking.”

“Dye my hair? That’s gay?”

Amber blinks at him, taco stopped mid-air. “Isn’t it? For a guy? By American standards?”

Jackson shrugs, running his fingers through his black hair. This is its most natural. There’s not even any gel in it.

“And maybe you can update your wardrobe, get out of sweatpants and tank tops. Tank tops are super bro.”

None of this sounds worth putting forth the effort. “I don’t like jeans, they don’t fit around my thighs and my waist. I have a complex.”

“Thick thighs, small waist. A look.” 

Not helping.

Amber laughs at his tired expression and pulls out her phone. Just as she’s about to Google ‘ways to be more gay,’ Jackson’s phone vibrates with a text. His heart drops at the sender’s name. 

It’s Mark. Jackson left his wallet on the floor of the bedroom.

He’s half expecting Amber to make fun of him, but instead she looks serious. “I can take the bus home.” He’d been her ride. “So you can meet him in private.”

“No, I don’t trust myself.”

**\------------------------------------------------**

Mark has a pep in his step and Jackson repeatedly tells himself it’s not because of him. Mark comes to greet Jackson in the parking lot in light-wash jeans and a t-shirt with a ripped collar, collar bones prettily on display. He’s such a pretty boy. Jackson doesn’t know how Mark looked at him and thought he was attractive enough to approach.

“Is that him?” Amber croons.

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Amber exaggeratedly cranes to get a better look. She whistles approvingly. “So you like blondes, huh?” And waggles her eyebrows. Jackson shoves his hand in her face so she sputters. He leaves her in the car with the A/C blasting, ignoring her words of advice of asking the guy out on a date.

Except they’re not so ignored, because Mark looks tiny and shy handing over the wallet, and Jackson just sort of -

“Can I take you out?”

Mark blinks at him.

It’s painfully obvious Mark’s got experience in the hook-up department, looking like he doesn’t want to answer, like he wasn’t expecting this and doesn’t know how to dodge, while it’s painfully obvious Jackson has zilch for experience, clinging to his first one-night stand.

“Uh, out?”

“Yeah, like, a date.”

The look on Mark’s face is weird. But Jackson’s mind is reeling; they exchanged numbers! They said they wanted to see each other again! Does this hesitation mean he’s a booty call? Maybe the wallet had been a ruse for a round two. He’s so glad Amber’s waiting in the car, because he has no idea what’s happening or how to handle it.

And while Jackson has a crisis for the third time that day, Mark shrugs. What a way to knock down a guy’s self-confidence.

“Sure. That’d be nice.”

Jackson sucks in a breath, his lungs and brain malfunctioning, “Neat-o.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, lips pursing in an attempt to hide a smile and Jackson bolts back to the car in strides too-long for his short legs, “Okay! I’ll call you!” And he tumbles into the car, nearly collapsing on Amber, “I just said neat-o. I’m such a fuckin’ loser.”

“But he said yes?”

“Yeah - before I said neat-o.”

Amber bites her lips, failing at not laughing. “Way to fuck it up.”

**\------------------------------------------------**

On Wednesday, five days after The Hook-up, Jackson’s cell pings with a text at dinner. His mother glares at him from across the table. Normally he’d ignore it and move on with his day, his friends know to call if it’s an emergency, but one glance at the screen and one glance at Mark’s name sends him in a panic.

Mark, the guy that’s been hoarding all of Jackson’s thoughts for the past few days. The guy that was promised a date, and up until now, has not heard a word about it. Jackson’s just trying not to seem clingy. When he told Victoria what had happened she frowned and shook her head with a quiet, “Give him space.” Jackson trusts Victoria with his life. She’s the most graceful, beautiful and poised person on the planet. And she picks up when he calls her when it’s four in the morning in China, freaking out over a one-night stand with a dude he’s interested in pursuing. She actually listens, so she’s a real hero.

So that’s what Jackson’s been doing. Space. Clearing the area. Trying not to seem like a desperate virgin when he’s not. Except for now he’s dying to know what Mark could be messaging him about.

He shovels the last bit of dinner in his mouth, eating so fast that his parents just stop to watch him in horror. His father tells him to slow down, but Jackson dips his bowl back and slurps up the rest of the broth.

“Thanks mom, thanks dad, dinner was great. I’m so full. Bye.” The dishes clatter loudly when dumped in the sink, and he high-tails it to his bedroom upstairs.

Mark  
_[March 9]_

Hey.  
> 6:00p

Jackson’s probably going to go into cardiac arrest, pacing back and forth in his bedroom.

Hi how are you?  
6:18p <

When were you going to tell me you’re The Olympic Fencer Jackson Wang?  
> 6:20p

Fuck.

Fuck!

_Fuck._

Jackson crumples to the floor with a dramatic whine.

You’re not even out of the closet yet, are you?  
> 6:24p

No.  
im not  
Fuck im so sorry  
6:24p <

this is so weird i really didn’t think anything was going to happen and uh,  
6:25p <

im sorry this is probably a really weird situation for you lol idkw hat i’m trying to say  
6:26p <

It’s okay. I know what you mean.  
> 6:28p

uhm HOW  
but okay  
i’m not really an asshole i promise  
6:30p <

even tho it’s the “nice guys””” that state theyre the “”nice guy”” that aren’t the “nice guy”  
6:31p <

You don’t have to take me out.  
> 6:35p

Jackson’s heart wrings out.

i want to  
6:35p <

It’s been almost a week.  
> 6:36p

i know i kno i didnt mean to make you wait i just though.t… space?  
6:37p <

We don’t actually know each other. I just messaged you because I wanted you to know it’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe.  
I promise.  
> 6:40p

The texts are back and forth instantaneously and it’s somewhat comforting to know that Mark’s probably in a similar situation, sitting somewhere with his phone in his hand, waiting for the replies to come in.

No hard feelings.  
> 6:41p

i can’t stop thinking about yo u  
6:45p <

which sounds dumb and clingy and PATHETIC considering we only talked for like… 15 min at the bar before we left to go to yoru place but uh,m  
6:46p <

I don’t want to be the boy-toy you play with and then let down after you feel comfortable enough to come out.  
> 6:55p

Ouch.

Jackson feels like crying. But it’s well deserved. And Mark’s not out of place.

Friends?  
7:00p <

You want to be friends?  
> 7:02p

Yes  
Lets go for drinks?  
7:05p <

No. I’m a handsy drunk and apparently so are you.  
> 7:07p

Lunch?  
> 7:09p

ill take you wheerver you want to go  
7:10p <

**\------------------------------------------------**

“You could put the gay flag on your gear.”

Jackson kicks his helmet to the side, stabbing his saber into the mat. He can sense coach’s eyes on him. Even though they’re far away enough and the gymnasium is huge, and there are a few teams of fencers between them, he’s afraid this conversation will be overheard. Amber’s still trying to “gay him up.”

“Oh, and by the way, the internet does think you’re a straight guy with a lesbian obsession.” Sunyoung, Amber’s girlfriend, is here for practice today. Jackson loves her to death, but Amber becomes MIA whenever she comes around and he selfishly wants his best friend all to himself this week. 

It’s not fair to blame them, though. They’re in a long-distance relationship spanning across the country, with Amber in LA and Sunyoung in Cambridge. She’s a brainiac studying at Harvard, so the couple don’t get as much time together as they’d like. It’s been three years of this, and Sunyoung should be done in one more. Sometimes because of the distance and lack of her physical presence, Jackson forgets how much Amber must tell her. He’s aware that they Facetime nearly every night, sometimes he sits in on them for a little while if he and Amber are hanging out, but he’s never there for when they get cozy and lovey with each other. They’re kind enough to never intentionally make him third wheel.

“I only share the not-so-private things.” Amber senses his disarray. “Loosen up.”

Sunyoung smiles distractedly, a fair warning to the other two to cut this conversation because the coach is walking over. Jackson doesn’t get trained by his dad - something about unfair advantages, but his father receives direct reports about his son’s performance. A single misstep and Jackson will get an earful from Coach and dad. He can’t take too long in the locker room, or his dad will know about that, too.

“You’re stance is off. Your wrist is weak.” Coach Fitzpatrick says with a frown, the lines in his face fitting around it. “If Casey wins another round against you, he’s going to beat both yours and his personal best.”

Jackson gets to his feet and pulls his helmet on. “Won’t happen again, Coach.”

“Your manager will hear this.”

Amber puts a comforting hand on Jackson’s shoulder and Sunyoung wraps an arm around his waist. “Hey, you’ll be okay.” She whispers, leaning against him. “Your manager is a cool guy.”

But Jackson’s twenty-four and lives with three baby-sitters.

**\------------------------------------------------**

By the time Jackson pulls into a parking spot and puts the car in park, Mark is glaring.

“You said this wasn’t a date.”

“It’s… not?”

Mark waves his phone in the air. “This place has three dollar signs on Yelp.”

“What’s a Yelp?” And Jackson laughs as Mark swings at him.

Alright so, maybe, just a little, Jackson is hoping to woo. A part of this comes from him being excited at the prospect of a relationship since he’s never had a boyfriend, and he’s starting to think he’s at a point in his life where he doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He wants to dip his toes into something new. The other part of this is he just wants more friends. He wants to surround himself with more people like him, and if Mark just wants to be friends and doesn’t want to be put in the public’s view, that’s fair. Jackson respects that. However, he’s still ready to put on the charm - let Mark’s affections fall where they land. Hell, Jackson wore jeans for this. He even tucked in his shirt. He thinks sweatpants and tank tops show off his body better, but Victoria told him to dress to impress. She models part-time on the side, she knows fashion, so of course he went with her advice.

Mark climbs out of the car with a long eye-roll. “We could’ve just gone to the Thai place Bambam’s family owns.”

“Who’s Bambam?” The car beeps as it locks behind them.

“You met him that morning. Blue hair. Super skinny.”

Jackson pictures the boy’s attractive face. “Oh, got it. He wouldn’t leave the bathroom so I could pee.”

“Yeah, he and JB wouldn’t shut up about your dick.”

“They did look! I knew it!” Jackson stumbles but recovers quickly to grab the door before his date can. Mark throws him another look, awkwardly drawing his hand back. “Did they say good things? Tell me my dick is pretty.”

“Forget I said anything.” Mark mumbles as he goes inside. Once the waiter turns with a flourish to lead them to their table, Mark is glaring over his shoulder again. The restaurant is a date place. It’s open and spacious, glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and everything is polished wood and trimmed white. It’s filled with old white couples chattering lazily over clams and lobster. Mark’s brow furrows as the waiter suggest an aged wine to start. It’s two in the afternoon. Jackson orders them both iced teas.

The prices on the menu seem to offend Mark. “We agreed -”

“I want to do this.” Jackson doesn’t want to hear him say “no date” again. It’s been a long week, his father has been breathing down his neck since hearing the weekly practice report, his mother texts him every hour on the hour ever since the night out, and his manager had texted him earlier about “needing to talk.” That’s never a good way to start the day. Jackson’s jittery and forcing himself to focus. Being with Mark makes him feel the clearest he’s felt in days.

They don’t really know each other, aside from some impersonal information shared over beers nearly two weeks ago, and Jackson wants to know him. Wants to know more than just what Mark’s like in the bedroom. 

“I want to do something nice for you.”

If the sweet confession affects Mark in any way at all, it doesn’t show on his face. All he does is lift the menu higher. “We don’t know each other.”

“Well, I’m trying to get to know you.”

The past week has been full of messages, which is nice, and casual, but Mark doesn’t talk much. Aside from that initial call-out message, Mark doesn’t text much, either. His responses vary anywhere from ten minutes to a whole day. His answers are pretty short, left hanging. And even though Jackson can accurately portray his personality through text messages, he feels like Mark can’t. Mark’s much more expressive in person. His tone changes quickly and his expressions are definable. Jackson got all that from a thirty-five minute car ride.

The thing that Mark has most in common with the self he displays through text, is that he chews his answers before speaking. Like, chews them a lot. Picks and chooses what he wants to be known. Jackson’s much more unfiltered, but Mark’s silences command the conversation, and Jackson bends with it. The pauses aren’t awkward, and Mark’s gaze isn’t shy, and when he laughs at a joke his whole face lights up, his eyes crinkle and his laughter is blissful. His humor is sharp and witty and leaves Jackson dumbfounded, but not offended. He’s so beautiful. It’s so not fair.

Around five, the place starts to pick up for the dinner rush. The server hovers and Jackson pays the bill, leaving a heavy tip. The waiter deserves it after having to spend nearly two hours watching them make googly eyes at each other. 

“Where do you want to go next?”

He braces for the word 'home,' but Mark seems to actually think about it, “Let’s go to the Boulevard.”

The sun won’t set for another few hours, parking is a bitch, but the way Mark smiles at him when their toes touch the sand makes Jackson think maybe he’s not the only one feeling totally smitten.

A few blocks down they stop at an ice cream truck. Jackson doesn’t know if it’s the novelty of meeting someone new, or if he’s crushing as hard as he doesn’t want to admit, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever run out of things to say. He’ll never want to not listen to Mark talk. Mark brushes over things and only shares what he wants, keeping vague about his own backstory. He loosens up a lot when speaking of his friends, like when Jackson comments about the earrings and Mark tells him the dual hoop earrings on each ear are a matching set with Jaebum, the hot guy with the sleeve tattoo from the bathroom, since they’ve been friends forever.

“We all moved in together because things were hard for Jinyoung and Yugyeom.” Two boys Jackson hadn’t bumped into that morning. Mark orders strawberry ice cream on a waffle cone and Jackson orders coconut and coffee-flavored in a cup. He doesn’t trust himself with a cone. Mark pays with a smile, much happier now that they have stopped arguing over who will pay, and turns back to Jackson. “They went through some shit after they came out. Yugyeom and Bambam were at a weird spot in their relationship, Jinyoung was having a hard time hiding two boyfriends -”

“Two?” Jackson stabs his ice cream with his spoon, making sure he heard that right.

“Yeah.” Mark glances at him, inspecting his reaction. Jackson’s more curious than anything else. “JB and Jinyoung already knew of each other, hung out a few times because of overlapping friend groups, y’know? And when Yugyeom made friends with Youngjae and started bringing him around, things got weird. But they’ve been together - two and a half, maybe? - years now.”

“Oh. Jinyoung had to hide it for a long time, then.”

“Yeah, for months, until it started digging into their relationship.”

“But when Jinyoung came out, his parents kicked him out?”

Mark’s gone back a few years, and Jackson watches the anger seep into his brown eyes. “No. They fuckin’ tried to put him into conversion therapy.”

Jackson’s veins run cold.

“He wasn’t…” Mark inhales and throws out half his ice cream in a nearby trash can. “He wasn’t okay.”

“Holy… fuck.” Because what else is there to say? “How’d he get out of it? If it’s okay that I ask.”

“He ran away. He ran to Yugyeom’s house, but Yugyeom’s parents thought that he’d ‘catch the gay’ or some bullshit so they didn’t even want him around. And then Yugyeom came out, the same damn time his parents kicked Jinyoung out. The whole thing was a fuckin’ disaster.”

Jackson’s ice cream is mostly forgotten now. The coffee flavor is especially unpleasant now. This is personal. He doesn’t know if it’s okay that Mark’s sharing all this. But he wants to hear it, he wants to hear how other parents have handled their kids’ coming out. He needs to face this if he wants to pursue a relationship with a man because he has yet to say anything to anyone that’s not in his immediate friend circle.

“You guys are really lucky to be together. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if Jinyoung and Yugyeom had to go through that alone.”

Jackson doesn’t know how to weave out of this. It seems too personal to be asking and Mark’s boiling over with rage, like something’s unsettled inside of him. It’s time to switch tracks. 

That seems to console Mark a bit, and he’s shrugging. “It helps when you have people that care, and understand.”

Most of what Mark shares needs to be prodded for, and they’re already had a good enough evening that Jackson knows he’ll be told if he steps out of bounds with any questions. So the follow up questions come flooding; question number one being, how did Mark’s parents take it? But Jackson doesn’t get a chance to ask. There’s a shrill screech from over his shoulder.

“It’s Jackson Wang!”

Mark immediately steps back to create distance and Jackson does his best not to reach for him. He gets it, fans can be scary, Mark’s never experienced it. Jackson isn’t even famous enough that this happens often. When it does, he doesn’t really know how to act. Sometimes he gets over-excited. 

Three girls come his way, stars in their eyes. Mark takes another step back.

Jackson plasters a smile on his face. Meeting fans is huge, and as much as he wants to enjoy his time with Mark, it feels good to hear a fan call his name.

“Are you gonna be in the next summer Olympics?!” One girl asks, her long hair pulled back. She’s pretty. “The last one was so boring without you!”

They take selfies together and Jackson answers a few questions and signs one of the girls’ cell phone case. He comments on the pretty pattern of it and her face lights up. He’s glad someone recognized him. He’s going to need all the publicity he can get for the upcoming games. 

All the positive publicity, that is. He had to sit the last one out because of bad PR.

“You know, I don’t believe the tabloids” One of the girls says, making Jackson flinch. The subject is dropped just as quickly as its’ brought up. “Sorry,” She mumbles, and Jackson just smiles at her. The evening had been going so well, and he’s trying not to let this dampen the mood.

Just as he’s about to step away, one of the girls grabs at his bicep. “You must be playing in the next Olympics! You look like you’ve been practicing.”

“Yeah,” He flexes his muscles with her hand still wrapped around his arm and he can almost hear Mark mumbling about him being a show-off. 

The girl looks excited, her smile dropping into something a little sweeter. Oops. That’s not the reaction he’s looking for anymore. That’s his cue to exit. Jackson shies away with a laugh and waves good-bye, wishes them luck, tells them to tell their friends - the usual script. They watch him step up to Mark, who tries be as casual as he can, wiping off the adoring expression glowing on his face.

“That was… cool.”

Jackson grins at him as they step away. Hell yeah it was. “Was it?”

“You’re like a celebrity.”

“A celebrity _athlete._ ”

Mark laughs, and reaches out to give Jackson’s arm a good squeeze after they’ve turned a corner. “You have been practicing, huh? If only those girls new how nice these arms felt wrapped around them while you fuck ‘em.”

Jackson’s throat goes dry and the ice cream won’t go down. He hacks it up as Mark just watches, amused.

“Holy shit, don’t do that. Just friends.”

Mark’s sharp teeth poke at his lower lip. He hums half-heartedly. “I still have a bruise on my waist, _friend_.”

The sun sets over the Boulevard and dips orange and purple into Mark’s hair like a halo.


	2. Out of Control

They meet again Sunday afternoon and Mark does the driving this time. He picks Jackson up from practice and hones in on how off Jackson is, right off the bat. It’s frightening how quick Mark notices, especially since Jackson’s learned to hide everything behind smiles and laughter, wooing interviewers and learning to make people laugh when he needs a second. 

“You okay?”

Jackson’s hands shake. He can’t hide that. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“I need food. Coach almost killed me in practice.”

Just a few blocks away sits Jackson and Amber’s favorite Mexican restaurant that brings out home-style food still piping hot. He orders the first thing off the menu, not even looking up. Jackson’s been here a million times. The image of the menu is seared into his brain.

Mark compares it to a small Mexican stand near his old college, and Jackson looks up, favoring new conversation over the mess of critiques he’s been on the receiving end of; the negative comments and arranged goals for his predetermined life are playing like a song on loop in his own head. 

“What’d you major?” And feels guilty for being surprised that Mark has an associate’s degree.

“Dental hygiene.” Mark says, and Jackson doesn’t know why this shocks him so much.

“No wonder your teeth are so nice…”

Mark completely stills, but then bursts out into laughter. “Thanks?”

Now that Jackson has a thousand questions, his phone rings. He freezes when he sees his manager’s name, and remembers that ominous we need to talk text that’s been sitting in his inbox for the past three days. Dread fills his stomach and he’s not hungry anymore. The smell of salsa makes him want to throw up.

“Hello? Mr. Zhang?”

There’s a pause on the end. “What? Jackson?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you - anyway. We know each other better than that. I want you to know that we’re gonna start getting you back out there! Are you ready!” Yixing Zhang is the best manager to have, and Jackson knows he’s lucky as hell, but he’s not ready for this phone call. “I just need you to focus. Coach Fitzpatrick has been telling me about practice. He sent me a video of last week’s training. I need you to pull it together.”

Jackson buries his face in his hands. He can only imagine that Coach sent the video of him landing awkwardly, toppling over before he even got the chance to extend his saber. He’s been doing this for so long. This is who he is, and he’s slipping. He’s out of focus. 

“You listening, Jacks? Are you pumped? I’m hoping that we’ll get some calls soon, the Olympics are going to want footage, the people are ready for your return! I’m hoping Sony calls, they have those cool new headphones -”

“Yeah, just keep me updated.”

There’s a weird break through the line. “Jacks, you okay? Be honest with me.”

Jackson’s thinking of the Olympics three years ago, the hate, the rumors and the tabloids and the hashtag on twitter. It hurts when he breathes.

Speaking Mandarin with Yixing is easiest, so he says good-bye whispering the words like they’re foreign to himself. Yixing pauses, but not without saying that he’s here for Jackson. If he needs anything, just say it. And Jackson wants to. He knows he can trust Yixing, since the man has been nothing but an angel in Jackson’s life, but something stops him. Something catches in his throat, and Jackson says good-bye instead. Mark’s sitting there, watching. He’s waiting, sitting on the edge of his seat, but he’s not waiting for the food. Jackson can’t figure it out. Can’t find the voice to ask.

The last thing, the last nerve, shatters when Jackson gets his food. This isn’t a part of his diet. He ordered food he can’t eat.

It’s like his soul snaps, he hears the rush in his ears, and he’s sucking in oxygen, covering his face with his hands. He can’t control his tears, can’t control his feet as Mark has to lead him, both hands on his arms. He feels restrained, fighting against chains.

And the tears _don’t stop._ Jackson heaves into his hands, feeling ugly, useless, barely breathing through the sobs and his body shakes, down into the marrow of his bones.  
.

**\------------------------------------------------**

It’s the waves that bring Jackson back. He breathes with them, and feels the salt on his tongue and his toes in the sand.

It’s still only six, so there are people mulling about. A friendly dog comes over and sniffs their toes and wags excitedly at the attention Jackson and Mark give it. Then the owner whistles and it takes off, kicking sand as it sprints away.

“Who’s little white dog was that, by the way?”

Mark stops drawing circles in the sand. They’d finished their meals a while ago, having traded food so Jackson could eat. “White dog? Coco?”

“The one in your apartment.” Jackson had eaten enough so the shakes were gone, but he’s still empty.

“Oh, that’s Coco. She’s mine and Youngjae’s.”

If he weren’t so numb, he’d feel jealous that he doesn’t have someone to adopt a dog with. “Wow, that’s cute.”

“We picked her up at the pound. She’s a rescue, was abandoned by her owner after the hurricane. She was totally bald when we got her.”

Jackson stares at the sand, he has no energy for anything else, and Mark scrambles to keep talking. “She looked like a little rat. And, uh, we have three cats in the apartment, too. Nora, Kunta and Odd, because JB keeps picking up strays.” He glances over, and after a long minute, hooks his arm with Jackson’s. It’s an open invitation to lean on him, and Jackson does, curling against his side. He’s doesn’t remember the last time he leaned on someone like this. “The cats hide away, mostly. Nora’s an outdoor cat and keeps clawing a hole in my window screen. There’s a branch that reaches, it makes it easy for her to climb in.”

Mark talks more than he ever has before, even when he clearly struggles for a topic. Jackson appreciates it more than he’d ever know; despite the embarrassment clawing at his throat and weighing his good mood down. He’s known Mark for three weeks now. They’re not really dating, not really friends, stuck in this weird zone that he doesn’t know how to navigate out of.

“Hey Jackson, some people are staring. I think they recognize you.” It’s the same group of teenagers that have walked past four times already, checking their phones.

“Let’s go.” Jackson says, standing and heading back to the car. He sits with the door open to shake off his shoes, and turns back around to Mark leaning over the center console, searching.

“You good?”

Jackson feels much less anxious, but still wants a distraction, and leans in. He doesn't know what compels him to do something so stupid. He’s still hollowed out, like his guts have been scooped out.

But Mark pulls back. “Not here.” He glances towards the beach. “You don’t want pictures of you kissing a guy to spread on the Internet.”

“Can we go to your place?”

Mark’s jaw tightens. The car jerks in reverse, too much pressure applied to the gas. “We’re watching a movie.”

**\------------------------------------------------**

Jaebum works at the bar, which explains why Jackson swore he knew him from somewhere. While they’re in the apartment, Jaebum sticks around for a little, but leaves for work a little before eight. Bambam’s off working late at his family’s restaurant, and Youngjae and Yugyeom have evening classes. Jinyoung doesn’t work evenings, and hangs around for a little after Jaebum leaves. Jackson’s aware of how they linger at the doorway as Jaebum exits, pausing, parting with a wave. Jackson sees that they’re stiff, awkward, putting off a goodbye kiss for the guest. Jackson wonders if they can feel his mood. Or maybe tear streaks are still lined down his face, exposing the breakdown he had earlier.

Halfway through the movie, Jinyoung slithers off to his room with a sliver of humor in his voice. “I’m not interested in superhero films. I don’t understand why they kept changing actors.” It’s a cover-up because he’s trying to give the two some privacy, but Jackson’s still feeling a little delayed.

“Move rights.” Is all he says. 

Jinyoung frowns, already almost out the living room. “I mean, Tom Holland is cute. It’s a cute movie. I’m just tired. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Jackson wonders if Mark would really want to see him after today. “Good night.”

Once the movie ends, Jackson gathers himself while Mark shuts the TV off, collecting their plates. Jackson allows himself a moment to study the line of Mark’s thin shoulders, the ridges of his veins in his hands trailing blue up his arm, under pretty, pretty skin, that Jackson wants to trace with his fingers. 

It’s those same, pretty hands that reach out. Jackson takes them, feeling secure with his fingers smushed between Mark’s. Mark pulls him up from the couch and down the hallway.

“I have to be up early. But you do, too, right?”

Words take too much effort. Jackson just nods.

“I have a pair of sweatpants that’ll fit you.” Mark fishes a dark pair of sweats from his drawer, handing them over. “None of my shirts are gonna fit your biceps. Hold on.” His fingers brush on Jackson’s arm as he brushes by, and across the hall he asks Jinyoung to borrow one of Jaebum’s shirts. And then there’s hushed conversation. Jackson’s not dumb. He knows he’s being talked about. He doesn’t care enough to know how much Mark shares with Jinyoung.

Mark brandishes a shirt for him. It’s huge, and Jackson briefly wonders how come he’s never noticed how wide Jaebum’s shoulders are.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go? I don’t want to bother you.”

But Mark continues on, finding him an extra toothbrush and instructing him to change. “I don’t know why you think I don’t like your company.”

Later, when Jackson thinks Mark’s sleeping, he lets himself cry. He’s already drained, his crying is dry and tear-less. But Mark rolls over in the dark, pulling Jackson’s weak body to curl in and press his face to Mark’s chest. 

With all his defenses down, Jackson grips Mark shirt, and drowns himself in his thoughts until the soft fingers scratching his scalp seem enough to lull them away for now, so he can drift into a dreamless sleep.

**\------------------------------------------------**

The sun is barely up, and Mark looks still sleepy, so welcoming and sweet.

“What do you usually eat for breakfast?” He gives the still-sleeping boy another light shake. “Hey, what do you want to eat?”

Jackson mumbles out a list of breakfast items on his diet; egg whites. Protein. Fruit. Shakes with oatmeal and peanut butter. He’s not sure it’s all out, he’s still trying to bury himself in the blankets, trying to burrow himself back in the comfort he feels here.

Coco comes pittering into the room, her kisses and excited greeting bringing a smile to Jackson before he’s even fully awake. He doesn’t realize how much he’s grinning until he enters the living room and kitchenette area, and he can’t grin any wider to laugh at how Youngjae’s just lying on the floor, chairs pushed aside, curled up in his hoodie.

“Is he -” Jinyoung peeks around the kitchen nook, and rolls his eyes with a defeated sigh. “Jae. Sweetheart. You gotta get up.” He toes at his boyfriend’s knees. All Youngjae does is curl up more, and mumbles something about hating working retail.

The shower runs with Mark in there, the stove sizzles with Jinyoung cooking at Jackson’s request, and Jackson lies on the cold floor with Youngjae. The tiles aren’t comfortable and a cat steps over his legs, and there’s a soft gasp of surprise at his side. Jackson cracks one eye open to follow the noise. Youngjae is staring at him with wide eyes suddenly awake, pulling his hood off.

“There’s…” He whispers, still stunned, his warm breath fogging up the tiles. “There’s an Olympic Bronze Medalist lying right next to me.” 

“Good morning.”

“Are we getting a special breakfast because of you? Usually I just eat cereal. Or toast.” Youngjae squeezes Coco and she nips uselessly at his sweater paws. “I love toast.”

“With marmalade.”

“Ooooh,” Youngjae presses his lips together in a cute little smile. “Yes. I like orange marmalade.”

It’s typical that people treat Jackson differently when they find out who he is. They’re disbelieving, but starstruck, walking on stilts like they’re trying to prove themself. He doesn’t have very many friends for this reason, but it’s also because of this that he appreciates the ones he does have. They don’t feed off him, or ask to be followed back on social media, looking for likes and anything a rising celebrity athlete can provide for their starved lives. Suddenly, people are perfect. They’re curious. They want in. But not because they care for him. They want invites to pool parties, they want to know who he knows, who he can hook them up with. What can _he_ give to _them_? His life is theirs. Jackson really has a hard time making new friends. 

Despite being a little stunned, probably having an inflated image of Jackson in his mind, Youngjae bonds with his new idol by listing breakfast foods in order of superiority, lying on a kitchen floor at 6:45 in the morning.

“You can’t eat Frosted Flakes?”

“Nope.”

Youngjae gasps, vigorously shaking his head, showing how feels about his new friends restrictions. “If you ever want to sneak a few spoonfuls, you can have some of mine.”

“You’ll share your Frosted Flakes with me?” It’s so dumb how choked up Jackson gets over this easy display of acceptance and friendship. He’s always wanted to be able to connect with someone like this - over nothing, really. 

He had been friendlier as a child, and always looked for friends outside of his fencing teammates. But there have been too many fakes in his life, too many who don’t care about him, but his name, and that innocent part of him has been stripped. Jackson wants to drown in this light hearted feeling.

Jinyoung peers back around the counter, grinning at the two when Youngjae yells a perfect impersonation of Tony the Tiger. 

Mark is out of the shower then, toweling off his hair, standing so close to Jackson that droplets of water fall from his hair down to Jackson’s shoulder. “Oh. Not you, too.” 

“So you’re telling me that he does this every morning?” Jackson gestures towards Youngjae, who laughs and hides his face by twisting his hoodie all the way around. 

“Yes, this is a daily thing.” Jinyoung laments from the counter. He’s throwing things in a blender. “And you’re just reinforcing it.”

Jackson can’t help but reach out and flick Youngjae’s nose when his face reppears through the opening of his hood.

Youngjae shoves a whole hand in Jackson’s face. Jackson rears back, shocked that he’s been handled so roughly. He’s relieved that he can be so casual with Youngjae, but surprised that their relationship has jumped right to the level of feeling comfortable to touch with such aggressiveness. And then Youngjae hits him again, playful and without intention to hurt, and Jackson’s too happy to really feel anything else.

“Are you two getting up or not?” Jinyoung comes around and shoves his cold toes into Jackson’s side. 

Jackson’s ticklish and jolts. He tries to remind himself that there are others in the apartment that are sleeping, and those others would not appreciate being woken with his screams. So he ends up shoving Youngjae against the wall, begging for mercy from Jinyoung’s cold toes. 

Mark, the little shit, just laughs and doesn’t come to their rescue.

**\------------------------------------------------**

Amber manages to be the best and worst thing in Jackson’s life.

“So you’re telling me…” 

“Jesus Christ.” Jackson buries his face in his hands. Why does he tell her anything if she’s just going to make fun of him? Why does he secretly love this?

They’re back at the bar, since Amber had insisted on wanting to see the place and wasn’t dumb enough to go alone. It’s Thirsty Thursday and the drink special is a half-price on drinks that Jackson really should steer clear of, but is drinking anyway. Amber’s also off her diet for the night, downing a martini and ordering another one before the bartender can even tell her how much it is.

“You good here, honey?” She asks out of genuine concern.

“Yeah. Can I get another one?”

The bartender takes the debit card, quirking an eyebrow. “Tab open or closed?”

“Open. Put both our drinks on it.”

Jackson rushes to interject, but Amber insists. They don’t get very many nights out like this. They never had; the rumors of their relationship and the rumors surrounding Jackson’s made it hard for them to hang out just the two in public, for a while. They also didn’t want photos circulating back to their parents or managers, and risk looking like a bunch of alcoholics to the Internet. Jackson’s parents, though they say they’d rather he drink at home, also make a point of letting him know they don’t want him drinking at all. And that’s not just because of a diet.

“Anyway, tell me more about Mark.” Amber swivels the bar stool to face her friend. The bar remains the same. All the surfaces are polished wood, the bar stools seated with worn cushions, and the bar itself is long, with small, circular tables surrounding the immediate area. People mingle, and the music isn’t too loud, blending with casual conversation. 

“Did you just come here to gossip with me?” Jackson loves her to death, but also knows that she lives to give him a hard time.

“Yeah. Sunyoung’s back at school. I’m wilting away here. Give me some good drama.”

As much as she teases, conversations with Amber always end up much more genuine than they start. She cares deeply for Jackson; they’ve known each other their whole lives, and have followed a predetermined path together. If they both weren’t gay, Jackson wouldn’t be surprised if they ended up together. That’s what the tabloids a few years ago assumed, anyway. But there are parts of their relationship that the gossip mags couldn’t capture. They’ve called each other at two in the morning, they’ve traveled together, slept in the same bed, and battled the same demons, even though Amber has accepted her role much better than Jackson has. While he wonders if the drive to practice is worth it, Amber is already there early, waiting for him with a smile, ready to fence.

Across the bar, Jaebum appears. He’s in jeans and a blank tank top with the bar logo in rainbow colors printed across the front, his hair pushed back and his eyes dark and smokey. From across the bar, the dim light catches the shimmer on his cheekbones, and he’s making his way down towards Jackson, eyes fixed forward. Honestly, his sharp gaze is intimidating.

The bartender that had been serving the two whispers something to Jaebum as he walks over, Jaebum says something back, and she eases off. 

“You’re back.” Jaebum leans over, resting on his forearm. Even Amber is momentarily distracted by him. Jackson catches the way her eyebrows shoot up behind the lip of her baseball cap.

“Yeah, this is my friend Amber. Amber, Jaebum. He’s one of Mark’s roommates.”

Being social and amicable, Amber doesn’t let the overhanging, broody mood that Jaebum carries around with him affect her at all. He hangs out for a little to chat, moving back and forth between people to tend to, and the two of them.

Conversation doesn’t stay light, though, it turns into something else. It turns into it being a stare down. Jaebum is cooperative in answering questions about his relationship with Mark so long as Amber is open about her relationship with Jackson. But there’s something very pointed about their inquiries at each other.

“The rumors said you two were dating. Dating for a long, long time.” Jaebum says, pining Amber down with a stare that leaves her visibly shaken for a second. It’s scary to think that he’d done his research on Jackson, Googling him and reading articles.

“And you’re taking the Internet’s opinion over me? Who’s telling you the truth?”

“I don’t know you.” Jaebum says.

“Okay. Well.” Amber seems frustrated, even if it’s mild. She presses her hand to her chest. “I’m lesbian. I have _no_ interest in dudes.”

This scene is fascinating. Jaebum’s pretty much dropped his work duties to grill Amber, and the other bartender is glancing over her shoulder while she takes orders from all the customers. Patrons come and go in waves, and don’t linger as long as the fencers do. It’s late enough that the kitchen is closing down for the night, so people aren’t hanging around for more than a drink or two. The other bartender handles it well.

“But _you._ ” Amber says pointedly, a finger directed towards his face. “You’re gay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so have you and Mark dated?”

“No.”

“Not even considered it?”

“No. He’s not my type. I’m not his. It’s simple.”

They’re quiet, some bouncy pop song filling up the air between them. “How long have you two known each other?”

“My whole life. I don’t have a single memory that doesn’t have Mark and Bambam in it.”

“Bambam’s never had a thing with Mark?” Detective Amber, on the case.

Jaebum laughs at that. A wholehearted laugh that kind of stuns Jackson. “Bambam’s like an annoying little brother. Mark would rather kill him than date him.”

“Huh,” Amber glances over at Jackson, who has his glass pressed to his lips. “I get that.”

For the sake of how important a moment this feels to him - that his best friend and Mark’s best friend should bond, and simply because Jackson likes that Amber’s talking about him and playing defense in his favor - he lets the comment go, opting to just stick his tongue out instead of retort. Amber grins at him, and turns back to Jaebum. His wide shoulders aren’t as tense anymore, and his smile is a little wider, reaching his eyes.

Once the conversation turns from picking on Jackson to their various tattoos, they really bond.

**\------------------------------------------------**

How things ended up this way, Jackson’s not sure. He’s back at Mark’s house a few days later, Jinyoung teases him as per usual, and Jaebum sticks around to chat. Later, when Youngjae and Yugyeom come home, they’re excitedly on him and his fencing life.

“I was watching your videos on YouTube.” Yugyeom is as tall as Jackson wishes he could be. He’d scare so many more opponents if he had some height. “You’re _amazing_. How long have you been training?”

They’re prying because they’re interested, not because they want something. It’s cute how Yugyeom and Youngjae imitate the moves, but they’re all wrong. Mark sips a beer as Jackson shows them the right steps, pulls their shoulders to straighten them out, and demonstrates the proper angle in which to hold a saber. Years and years of dedication make this easy for him. It’s fun to teach them, even without the proper space or elements for fencing. They hold invisible swords and don’t have enough space between them to thoroughly execute any moves. It reminds Jackson of how much he really loves fencing.

Bambam comes in later after work, toting bags of Thai food. He interrupts the duel between his boyfriend and Youngjae, to press his glossy lips to Yugyeom’s for a sweet peck. Yugyeom smiles and leans back in to kiss his forehead. Bambam and Jinyoung take out plates and serve the food.

The night relaxes Jacksons. For the first time in his life, he feels like he’s really making friends. On his own terms.

As much as he loves his fencer friends; Amber, Victoria and Luhan, their families are all friends. They’ve grown up together, and as much as it hurts to think about, sometimes Jackson wonders if he and the others would be so close if it weren’t for playdates set up for them when they were in diapers. The bond that they share is totally different from what Jackson can feel forming here, in this small apartment in a small neighborhood. It’s tucked away and almost feels like a secret.

But at the end of the day, Jackson wouldn’t give Amber up for the world. Making friends on his own feels fresh.

Mark offers a beer once it’s just the two of them - as the others have shuffled off to get ready for bed, or in Jaebum’s case, for work - pulling Jackson from his trance.

“I can’t, too many calories.”

“You really can’t even have one?”

“No, my diet is really strict. I have to send pictures of my meals to Yixing.”

“Your manager?”

“Yeah.” But he still steals a few sips from Mark’s beer, sliding closer, smiling at him, and chasing the taste of alcohol on his lips.

Mark hums and cups Jackson’s jaw, and Jackson kisses him softly and sweetly, to make up for the roughness of their first night. That’s not usually how he is. That’s not at all how he is. And he proves it with slow, very slow, open mouth kisses. Slow drags of his tongue. Careful touches. Mark ends up pinned up against the counter and all they do is make-out. All they do is taste each other. 

Their noses brush. Mark’s hair tickles the bridge of Jackson’s nose, but they don’t take this anywhere else. Jackson’s hands perch perfectly on Mark’s waist, Mark’s hands feel good in his dark hair. 

They’ve been on three dates, two of which weren’t “dates.” They’ve known each other for three weeks. And this feels like starting over. 

They lock a series of kisses, pull away to smile, to nudge each other gently while catching their breath, and then kiss again until they’re breathless. And repeat.

**\------------------------------------------------**

Coach Fitzpatrick never looks happy. Not even when Jackson lands his footwork correctly for the first time in two weeks. His opponent teases about “looks like Jackson Wang is finally back in the game.”

Jackson runs himself thin at practice, thighs shaking and hair plastered to his scalp and forehead by the time he’s done. Amber comes and hooks an arm around him, they’re both sweaty and gross. They climb into Jackson’s car and roll the windows down on the drive home so they don’t have to smell themselves. Jackson showers in his parent’s bathroom at home, and Amber takes the shower upstairs. She’s flopped on Jackson’s bed by the time he comes in, feeling refreshed and vigorous.

“As soon as you lie down you’re done.” Amber promises, spread out like a starfish against his sheets. 

“Then I’m not gonna lie down.”

But the two of them end up on opposite sides of the bed, passed out for a solid hour, only to wake when Jackson’s dad comes in. Jackson’s dad shakes him with a firm hand, rolling him over so that he can catch the look of disappointment. 

Leaving Amber to nap, Jackson steps into the hallway. There’s only one thing he’s sure of right now: this is not good.

Jackson’s mind races as his father collects himself, breathing in, and out. Aside from Mark, Jackson hasn’t done anything bad.

Immediately his gut fills with regret. Mark is _not_ ‘something bad.’

But there’s nothing else Jackson can think of that would have his father enraged enough to pull him out of a cat nap and pull him aside in private. His eyebrows furrow so closely together that they look to be one. 

“Take a look.” Ricky twists his phone and Jackson’s gut flops. Is it him and Mark at the beach? Or in the car? Or a video of him saying he’s gay?

It’s a video of him, but he’s in his fencing gear landing on the ball on his foot instead of flat. It’s a small step, but his legs shake and Ricky rewinds it again, and again. 

“Do you see this? Where’s your head? It should be on the mat. This is a _basic_ beginner step. How is it messed up?” 

There’s no point in trying to defend himself and Jackson knows this, but still, he fights back. He’s getting better, his groove is coming back, it’s just a little loose right now, things are weird. There is a lot of reading between the lines that needs to be done - like he’s tired. He’s exhausted. He’s reconsidering this fencing thing, and he wants a relationship. He wants a relationship with a man.

That last one is a little more buried than everything else, but after the scandal, Jackson’s had a lot to think about. Sometimes he wonders if his parents are pushing their own dead dreams onto him. His father’s gold medal from the 80’s hangs at the end of the hallway, glimmering teasingly in Jackson’s face. Ricky got the gold one year, and then tore the ligaments in his ankle and never played again. And then Jackson came.

And that’s how Jackson feels like his life has been going recently, and then… and then…. and then… and then…

Practice to make it into the junior Olympics, and then the Olympics, and then a gold, and then…

Even his daily routine; get up and then go to practice and then get some lunch and then hang out with Amber and then go to bed and then to go practice and then….

If only Ricky really knew his son, and then he’d know what the frustration and shoddy footwork means. Jackson falls into complacency, and accepts that now he needs evening practices. He needs a new sport. Jackson wants to go out and get ice cream with his friends and get drunk at the bar with Mark and binge all of the MCU with his new friends. He wants to live like a teenager at twenty-four.

Instead, he has, “Practice. Tonight.”

Jackson’s been up since seven for practice, and his blood sugar is low, hands shaking, because he hasn’t eaten lunch yet. But yeah, more practice.

“I’m telling your mom you’re going to put you on a stricter diet, too. We’ll fix dinner up, and then you and I will go to the studio.” There’s no room for rebuttal in Ricky’s voice. He’s speaking as a Coach, roping his fatherly authority into it.

 

Amber holds Jackson for a long time, rocking back and forth and patting his back.

**\------------------------------------------------**

**Mark**  
_[April 1]_

you have practice again?  
> 1:02p

yeah im so sorry…. i didnt want to cancel  
1:05p <

It’s okay, it’s not your fault. Did you switch from days to nights?  
> 1:11p

No, i have practice days ANd nihts  
gotta take up another sport  
1:13p <

Oh.  
That’s a lot.  
> 1:19p

i need a nap lol  
1:20p <

Why, all of a sudden? The Summer Olympics aren’t for another 2 years?  
> 1:45p

MY dad. and there are other competitions i gotta go to. there’s one in july in china and the games start soon  
1:50p <

aren’t you at work?  
2:03p <

yeah, but i’m at the front desk today  
> 2:10p

I’m sorry about your dad.  
> 2:15p

thanks  
2:18p <

Next week, then?  
> 2:34p

ill let u know :)  
3:00p <

**Mark**  
_[April 6]_

I found your IG lol  
> 11:34p

Well, Youngjae did.  
> 11:36p

**Mark**  
_[April 7]_

FOLLOW ME!!!!!! EVERYONE FOLLOW ME!! AND THEN IM FOLLOWING BACK!!  
6:47a <

**Mark**  
_[April 10]_

[PHOTO]  
> 3:45p

I SAW THE PICS YOU PISTED I LIKED THEM ALL  
4:55p <

buy her a squirtle plushie too  
4:56p <

coco already hates me enough lol  
> 5:00p

how could she hate such a wonderful human being ????? >:(  
5:05p <

ILL buy her a squirtle one  
5:07p <

are you going to come and give it to her?  
> 5:14p

you know…. once i get the chance…. i’m coming over to see her.  
5:20p <

Alright  
> 5:25p

And you.  
5:26p <

I miss you.  
> 5:30p

**Mark**  
_[April 11]_

I…. didn’t mean to leave you on read.  
im so sorry  
i just  
passed out when i got home it was like 6:30  
i’m the wolds BIGGEST ASSHOLE  
8:04a <

I know you’re busy.  
> 10:15a

It’s okay. How are you holding up?  
> 10:17a

like not only have i been practicing like a thousand hours a day and moms trying to get me back into the CHARITY SPIRIT thru chruch ug haghdsjl…. i….. got signed  
10:59a <

signed?  
> 11:08a

i got an endorsement deal.  
11:40a <

Woah. This is….Big news  
> 11:42a

With who?  
> 11:45a

adidas!!!  
i’ll tell you more about it when i jknow more!!  
prepare to see me on the tv bihhhhhh  
or in a magazine  
11:57a <

i have no idea wtf i’m doing yet tbqh  
12:00p <

That’s… amazing. I can’t believe I know a celebrity.  
> 12:30p

And don’t forget to rest up. Take lots of naps.  
> 2:45p

Coco and i have been napping  
[PHOTO]  
> 2:50p

holy fck  
6:30p <

dude i opened this up in practice NAD YOU  
?????  
!!!!!!!  
WO W  
6:31p <

???  
> 6:36p

coco is the luckiest girl in the wOrld i can’t believe she’s really there sleeping on your bare chest like what an unfair life  
6:40p <

lol  
> 6:42p

you can’t just ‘lol’ me like u didn’t just almost stop my HEArT  
6:43p <

tell coco we’re rivals now  
6:46p <

omg.  
> 6:53p

**Mark**  
_[April 14]_

Here’s our princess.  
[PHOTO]  
> 4:45p

i relate to coco  
if you letf me hoem alone for too long i too, would rip apart the toilet paper  
5:59p <

she was probably waiting for you which also like………. s a m e  
6:00p <

How do you think I feel?  
> 6:15p

im so sorry  
i’m seeing you next week  
i’m seeing you  
next week  
i miss you.  
6:17p <

**Mark**  
_[April 15]_

[PHOTO]  
2:15p <

I did a thing  
2:17p<

You dyed your hair! It looks so cute! And your eyeliner <3  
> 2:24p

still blond  
[PHOTO]  
> 2:30p

I LOVE YOU BLON D11!!  
2:32p<

you AT Y=OUR MOST POWERFUL  
2:35p<

omg  
>2:37p

you’re so handsome. what do i do  
7:48p <

You’re really sweet.  
> 8:03p

**\------------------------------------------------**

Jackson could melt into Mark’s arms. Their relationship has been weird, mostly through texts and Instagram, liking each other’s posts, but conversation never stops. Even if it takes hours to reply, it warms Jackson’s heart to see Mark’s name in his text messages checking in on him, or seeing Mark’s IG handle pop up next to a notification. And Jackson’s had this weird budding relationship with Youngjae and Yugyeom. He’d never expected it, but they send him memes and he’s never had a friendship founded on dumb internet videos.

Without a break in his life, one exhaustive day rolls into the next exhaustive day, Jackson’s tumbling through the weeks feeling like he’s doing it all in one breath until he can finally find a place to fall. He crashes into Mark’s arms, his body moving on pure adrenaline, because the endless activity has his knees weak.

Thankfully Mark doesn’t say anything and simply holds on. 

Jackson buries his face into Mark’s neck and latches on tight enough to crush. Mark rubs a hand up and down his spine, over the soft fabric of his athletic tee. The only reason he lets go is because Jackson does, when he hears the sound of a door opening from somewhere in the apartment. Jaebum appears over Mark’s shoulder with a smile.

“Hey, good to see you again.” He’s much less intimidating now that they’ve spent more time together. He has a soft side that Jackson’s excited to explore, and Jaebum reaches in for a one-armed hug. Jackson kicks his shoes off by the front door while Mark updates his roommate that the rest of the guys will be home soon, all coming in from classes or work. 

Tonight is the first night in nearly a month where the world doesn’t feel like it’s rushing past. Jackson doesn’t fidget by the microwave when they make popcorn, and he sits and enjoys the movie in the living room, surrounded by six other guys. He sits next to Bambam, Yugyeom and Youngjae, the four of them littering commentary while the rest of the guys. Jinyoung, Mark and Jaebum, sit on the opposite couch and watch contently in silence. About halfway through the movie Jackson realises that Mark’s not at his side, but it’s not strange. He’s making friends with Mark’s friends, and it warms his heart to think that he’s making a place here. Like he can make a spot for himself in this little circle, and Mark’s not trying to keep him from it. 

Which, if their relationship has proved anything, it’s that Jackson and Mark have moved on past a one-night hook-up or a booty call, into something that’s still unnamed. Unrushed, though.

Once the movie is over, Jinyoung shoos Yugyeom off to bed. It’s nearing midnight and he has to be up and out the door by eight - _you need all the beauty sleep you can get_ , Jinyoung insists with a particularly rough shove. Yugyeom slaps him back without much real effort, and the two of them disappear into the bathroom, mutedly yelling at each other in Korean.

Begrudgingly, Youngjae also admits he needs to get to bed. “My last final is tomorrow.”

“Eleven, right?” Jaebum asks, reaching to pull Youngjae in by the back of his neck for a soft kiss. “Do you want me to drive you?”

“Could you?” 

Jaebum affirms it with another kiss, then turns to the boys left in the living room. Jackson is helping clean up, swiping all the empty beer bottles into a trash bag. “Good night guys.”

Youngjae peers over Jaebum’s shoulder, “Wait! Jackson! Are you free next weekend? Friday night?”

He’s not. But Jackson shrugs, not wanting to admit it to himself or to the others. 

“You should come by West Wing to party with us! Finals is this week and there’s gonna be a drag show when it’s all over!” Youngjae stops, eyes wide with hope that Jackson’s going to say yes.

Mark cuts in though, “Would you be allowed to do that?”

It’s meant good-naturedly. Mark’s thinking of Jackson’s public image. But Jackson’s stomach is flipping, and he says, “I’ll make it work. I’ll be there.”

Youngjae grins and shoots two thumbs up in the air, whooping loudly when Jackson does it back. Jaebum laughs and follows his boyfriend to their room, the two of them talking excitedly.

Mark hooks an arm around Jackson’s waist, looking small and sweet. “You sure that’s okay?”

Bambam takes the trash bag from Jackson as he passes through to the kitchen. Remembering that they’re not alone, Jackson steps back to create a bit of space between him and the blond. He picks up a unicorn pillow pet from the floor.

“It’s going to be okay. I need a night out.”

Bambam grins at him from a few feet away. “Have you ever been to a drag show?” His grin widens even more when Jackson shakes his head no. “Oh, you’re gonna _love_ it. “

“Bammie puts on the best shows.” Mark smiles, and Bambam keens at the praise. 

“I know, darling, I’m the best. I’m not going to spend what I do on make-up and heels and not be the queen bee.” And then at Jackson, “How early can you get here?”

 

After they’ve cleaned up as best they can, Jackson says good night to Jinyoung in passing down the hall, and goes to Mark’s room to collect the things he hadn’t wanted to leave in his pockets while lounging around. He hooks his keys to his sweatpants pocket and shoves his wallet in there, too. Mark comes in behind him, shutting the door and leaning against it.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, it’s already late, and I have mass in the morning.”

Mark smirks at that. “What a good little Christian boy.”

“Well - I mean…” Jackson shrugs. “I guess. My mom is super involved in the church and I’ve been helping with mass a lot. She wants me to get more involved again.”

“Which is bullshit considering everything else you have to do. You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep going like this.” Mark frowns, reaching out with one hand. It’s super obvious what he wants, for Jackson to come closer, but for some reason it doesn’t seem to make any sense. They’re alone in his room, the door closed, it’s been a super relaxing night and Jackson’s curbing his feelings because even though he thinks Mark might feel the same, he’s not sure, but he’s not sure what his own feelings are, and -

Mark’s all of a sudden very close, one hand cupping Jackson’s, the other moving to rest against his jaw, and Mark’s saying, very quietly, with his gaze fluttering down to Jackson’s lips, “You need to relax.”

Jackson’s throat tightens. Mark gets closer, his hot breath against Jackson’s lips. “Let me help you unwind.”

It only takes a second, Jackson’s knees are weak, and Mark’s reeling him in for a kiss by the back of the head, stealing the breath from his lungs. Jackson’s so _tired,_ but he wants this.

Mark climbs on top of him, pinning him to the bed - this is what Jackson wants.

“What do you need?” Mark’s voice comes out in a breath, and Jackson isn’t getting it. His mind is still foggy, he’s feeling tired and exhausted and.

Frustrated. 

Frustrated because of _everything_. There’s not one thing going right in his life. Which is pathetic. He’s rich. He has money. He has friends that love and support him. Parents that push him. He has Mark - even though it’s not romantic.

But in the end, that’s the problem. 

He’s not in control of his goals. He doesn’t know what makes him happy. He has friends that love and support him, but he has to shield them from the public. He has parents that push him to be what they want him to be, not what he wants to be. And his whole life revolves around the one thing that’s been forced upon him since childhood. He should be grateful. And he’s not. And it tastes bitter as fuck in his mouth. Down his throat. On the back of his tongue.

“Babe,” Mark mumbles again, voice carrying off in a moan. “What do you need?”

And Jackson -

Doesn’t fucking know.

“What do you want. baby?”

Jackson crushes their lips together, it almost hurts him, but, _fuck,_ he wants - “I want you to suck my dick.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth he rips away, like tearing off a bandaid, and nearly chokes on his own breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” It came out too forceful, too much. Too demanding.

Mark stops, his lips prettily red, prettily swollen, eyes wide and surprised. Jackson opens his mouth to apologize. But Mark cups the back of his neck, sure, and pulls him down so their lips brush, whispering, “What else do you want, baby?”

Is this too much? Jackson falls back into their kisses, back into mapping out the plains of Mark’s slender body, and mumbles, “Take your clothes off.”

Mark does as he’s told, pushing away to pull his shirt off, then his pants, and sits in his boxers, hands hovering over Jackson’s stomach. “Can I?”

“Yeah.” Jackson lets Mark undress him. Welcomes the chill of the air conditioning. Kneels over Mark’s naked body, and lies over him, barricading him in, trapping him between his thighs and biceps and Mark keens, low and hollow.

“Do you like this?” Jackson asks, pushing his hips forward only slightly, rubbing their cocks together. “Is this what you want?”

He watches as Mark’s closes his eyes, tipping his head back. “Yes. But. Please let me suck you off.”

They switch positions, Jackson leaning against the wall and Mark between his spread legs. Mark wastes no time in licking at his erection, slowly, before mumbling, “Tell me what’s okay.” Mark licks him up, taking the head of Jackson’s cock into his mouth, lapping at him, like he enjoys the taste, enjoys the sounds he elicits from Jackson. Jackson puts a hand on the back of his head, watching as Mark sucks him off, wet and lewd and noisily, moaning around his dick. Mark keeps his eyes closed, and Jackson’s toes curl at the sight, resisting to buck up into Mark’s mouth.

And then Mark’s tapping Jackson’s thigh, stopping. He doesn’t move his head, eyes fluttering up at Jackson, waiting. Expectant. And Jackson… think he knows what’s going on. But isn’t sure. And doesn’t want to - 

“Fuck my mouth.” Mark’s lips brush against the head of Jackson’s cock. “Please. Please, baby, use me.” He whispers, closing his mouth around the end, just barely scraping it with his teeth and Jackson’s whole body jerks. _Woah._

With one hand in Mark’s hair, Jackson does so. He starts off easy, just rolling his hips, testing this out, while Mark watches him, edging him on with his gaze, using his tongue and sucking gently. He arches a brow, like, _what are you waiting for,_ and grabs one of Jackson’s thighs by the handful, the other reaching up to tweak his nipple. That’s when Jackson lets it take over- whatever _it_ is - and fucks up. Mark groans and closes his eyes and Jackson plants his feet and fucks, holding Mark’s head in place. He tries. He tries to gauge Mark’s reaction, but he’s sliding in deep, and it’s so wet, saliva dripping down onto the mattress and Mark’s whining again, humming around his dick. Jackson watches, mumbling, 

“Your mouth looks so good around my cock, babe.” The fingers on his chest slip, but then Mark’s thumb swipes again over his nipple and Jackson is cradling the back of Mark’s head, fucking upwards, seeking his release, panting as it draws nearer, nearer, “What a good boy.” Mark’s teeth scrape and Jackson tightens the grip he has on Mark’s hair and Mark’s eyes squeeze shut and he’s moaning again. Jackson feels it down into his toes. 

“You’ll let me come on you?” 

Mark nods, and Jackson fucks, getting lost down Mark’s throat, around the wetness, around the sweet, sweet willingness of Mark’s mouth, and pulls out just as he’s there. And Mark gets it, tugging on Jackson’s dick with one hand, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. He fuckin’ moans when Jackson spurts on his face. He uses his finger to clean it up and lick it clean when Jackson’s finished. Mark gasps up at him, lips red and swollen, saliva and cum dripping down his neck. His hair is mussed, eyes wet with tears, and Jackson’s worry spikes back, through everything else.

“Mark...”

Mark hears the concern and shakes his head. “I love pleasing you.” Before Jackson’s brain can catch up, Mark leans in, their lips slide messily, the kiss bitter, and Mark’s groaning. He’s bending again, giving Jackson free reign.

“Baby.” Jackson pushes his thigh between Mark’s, pushing against his balls and cock. He can’t help but grind his own hips down against Mark’s leg. Mark ruts, muted, and buries his face in Jackson’s neck, biting the skin without enough pressure to leave a hickey. 

But Jackson’s not done with him yet. He needs a minute to gather himself, another few minutes to mellow back down so he can get hard again. So he toys with Mark’s orgasm instead, rolls them over so the blond is underneath him, legs spread so Jackson can reach him easier. He wraps a hand around Mark’s erection and now that he’s feeling less foggy, he allows himself a second to just feel it. To run his thumb over the head, to feel the way Mark’s slightly curved, just enough, to fit in his palm.

It’s intoxicating the way Mark looks at him, eyes half-open, lip caught in his sharp, pretty teeth. He likes having this control over Mark; likes knowing that he can make him whine with a slow drag of his fist. He makes Mark curse when he tightens his grip, or rubs his head over the tip. Jackson watches Mark’s eyebrows furrow and he arches, baring his long neck for Jackson to be able to run his tongue along the skin. He sets the pace and Mark’s just being tugged along.

“I-I’m… almost…”

Jackson doesn’t give up control. He stops, and grins at Mark’s stunned reaction. Mark whines, high and needy, and his gaze searches Jackson’s.

“I’m not done with you.”

A gasp catches in Mark’s throat. “Can I touch you?”

“Not yet.” Jackson replies, running his hand down Mark’s body; over his nipples, down his stomach and between his legs, where’s he’s nice and warm. He takes Mark’s cock in his hand, again, gauging a reaction. He’s pleased with how Mark drops his head back to the sheets. Jackson pumps him. Slowly, taking his time to listen to Mark whimper. He enjoys the sound.

He doesn’t know what to do with this power until his body commands it, and he’s mumbling, “Touch yourself.”

“How do you want to watch?”

Jackson’s arousal spikes. This is exactly what he wants. “On your back.” 

Obedient to every command, Mark complies when Jackson tells him to jerk himself off, or when to go faster, or slower, and Jackson leans back, palming his own erection with Mark lying only inches from him, head thrown back, shoulders pushed into the mattress, his legs spread so Jackson can rest there. Jackson wants to taste the sweat that pools on Mark’s stomach, and watches how his thighs strain and the way his chest heaves with each breath. Mark’s fingers are thin and pretty, slicked up around his cock as he bites his swollen lips with his pretty teeth.

“Finger yourself.” 

With a loud whine, Mark grapples for the lube. He curses. Jackson offers no help. He waits as Mark spills more on the sheets than his own fingers, and then reaches down, slipping a finger into himself with ease. He moans, trying to widen his legs as if wanting to accommodate for more. Jackson runs a finger down Mark’s calves, over the bone, over where his tattoos are.

“You do this a lot, baby?”

“While thinkin’ of you.” Mark says without a hitch, moaning as he crooks a finger. Jackson doesn’t know what he wants to watch more; Mark’s face or his hands. “It’d feel better… if it were you.”

“Yeah, so you think of me when you touch yourself?” Fuck. How thrilling.

“Every…” Mark works his finger faster, panting, “Every time. I think of your hands - oh. On me. Pinning be down. Think of you - being rough.” His hips buck, and he slides in a second finger, opening himself, unashamed, as if Jackson weren’t between his legs. And he rolls his hips, rubs his other thumb over the head of his cock, and he says Jackson’s name. Says it quietly. Jackson grips Mark’s knees where they’re open around him, fighting back the urge to slump forward and put his mouth on Mark. Anywhere.

“Stop.”

Mark’s eyes fly open and it takes a second, Jackson has to repeat it. Firmer. “Stop.” But he does. He stills his hands and blinks away tears.

Jackson’s on edge; wants to see Mark come undone only as he wills it. He’s taking control and Mark’s letting him have it.

“So good, baby.” Mark shivers, and Jackson moves to lie over him, pinning Mark down with his body, forcing him into the mattress and pressing their hips together. He swallows up Mark’s groans, licking into his mouth and Mark submits, whining. Jackson remains surprisingly in control while Mark loses it, rutting his hips. His hips stutter against Jackson, and Jackson sucks a red mark on Mark’s shoulder. 

“Do you like this?”

Mark arches off the bed, whining. “Please. _Please_.”

Jackson grabs Mark by his jaw and Mark whines, his eyes open and pupils dilated. His breathing is ragged.

“Do you like this?” Jackson whispers. “Do you like when I mark you, like this? Do you remember last time? You loved it.” He digs his blunt nails into Mark’s hip, grinning at the low whines. “Later, you’ll feel me, even when I’m not there.” He tightens his grip and Mark’s squirming now, huffing into Jackson’s neck, rolling his hips against the forceful grip keeping him pinned. And Jackson’s thrilled by this; loves how Mark bends to his will and does as he’s told. 

“Please, what?” 

“Please fuck me. Fuck - oh my god, oh, _god_.” Listening to this has Jackson’s head spinning, and Mark mumbles then, “I’m ready for you. Wanna be - _oh_ ,” Jackson slides a finger into him, just to make him suffer more. “Wanna be good for you.”

Jackson positions himself, hovering, and just as he’s about to press forward he realizes something very important. “Wait, where’s - where do you keep your condoms?”

Guttural and needy, Mark groans and twists. “In the drawer, right - yeah. There.” He reaches to take the condom from Jackson’s hand but Jackson yanks it away, shoving Mark down on to the mattress. He can feel the wild thunder of Mark’s heart beat. He moves to grab his jaw again, and Mark grits his teeth, desire flashing through his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He says immediately, eyelids fluttering, one hand coming to wrap loosely around Jackson’s wrist, still holding him down. 

“You’re going to be patient.” Jackson says, and Mark swallows.

Jackson slides the condom on and does this at his pace. He rests on his forearm, using his other arm to wrap around Mark’s waist, to hoist his hips up, and then slides in. He takes it slow, rolls his hips and tries to be gentle, until his hips are pressing into Mark’s thighs and their bodies as so close he can feel the way Mark trembles against him.

The noise Mark makes isn’t satisfactory, he’s still not satisfied, and he claws at Jackson’s shoulders.

“Fuck me. Please - haven’t I been good?”

“Very good.” Jackson pulls back, slow, feeling the tightness of Mark around him and he groans. He buries his face in Mark’s neck and bites down as he pushes back in, trying to keep his orgasm at bay. Watching Mark like this, listening to him beg, pushes him closer and closer. “You feel so good, too. So tight, baby.”

“Been waiting for you.” Mark murmurs, planting kisses on Jackson’s sweaty hair. “No one fucks me the way you do.”

Jackson moves then, pulls back and pushes in. Hard. Mark nearly shouts, and his nails dig in to the meat of Jackson’s biceps. “Yes, _please_. Like that. Ruin me.” 

Under normal circumstances, Jackson would want this a little more vanilla. But he’s worked up and Mark’s arching under his hands, releasing a sob as he ruts against Jackson’s hips, being pliant and submissive and it’s so hot, and it’s apparently what Jackson needs. He loses himself here, between Mark’s legs, fucking him, filling him, making him whine in loud whimpers that have most definitely flooded down the hall. Normally, he’d be embarrassed, wouldn’t want the others to know - but something about knowing that the others can hear him - can hear _them_ , can hear how loud Mark can get, and beg, makes his gut coil. Makes his hips snap faster.

Jackson doesn’t know how deep this aggression is, but it’s never ending. He pulls out, pushing his hair from his forehead, and motions with his hand impatiently. “On your hands and knees.”

Mark’s moving into position before the comment is even finished, and his knees slide as he’s pushes into, hands gripping his hips and keeping him in place. Obedient.

“Usually so quiet. So to himself. Want the rest to hear you so they know… Know that you’re mine.” Jackson doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore, and lets the noises fall from his lips as he fucks Mark, fucks him while telling him he’s a good boy. Until the words are incoherent and Jackson can’t get himself to speak, and uses Mark the way he’s been asking, fucking him until he’s drooling against the mattress, clawing at the sheets. Jackson moves his iron grip from Mark’s hips to his thighs, around the front, and digs his nails in. Mark lets out a sob.

It’s quite the sight before him; Mark’s body bending, pulling Jackson in tightly, with a flush all the way down his pretty back. He glistens with sweat, and Jackson feels sweat dripping down his own back, sliding between his skin and Mark’s and he can’t resist it when he slaps Mark’s ass. And Mark comes. Untouched. His whole body spasms and the muscles in his thighs tightening, and Jackson finishes, hard, throwing his head back as he can’t even thrust anymore, just ends up pushing his hips flush against Mark’s ass, grinding until he’s done.

After the condoms been throw out, Jackson suggests a shower. He could feel how sticky Mark’s neck is when he had grabbed his jaw, a cloth won’t be enough. So they get wet enough just to clean off, and don’t bother actually washing their hair.

“Your stamina is going to actually kill me.”

Jackson wraps both arms around Mark, grinning into another kiss. “We should just… stay in one day.” There’s a bit of aggression still tapered behind, even after he’s already reached his high. Mark’s thighs are red, and his hips bruising. Jackson stares. He _left_ those marks. He’d been begged for them. 

“Yeah,” Mark gasps into his mouth. “We should do that.”

“But this was okay?” The mood shifts - fast, and Jackson wants to make sure that really. This had been okay. “I didn’t make you uncomfortable? Not once? We’re fine?”

The confirmation comes in Mark hooking his arms around Jackson’s shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss.

**\------------------------------------------------**

Jackson wakes up to a hot man sitting at his side, shaking his shoulder.

He jerks back, pulling the blankets to cover his chest with a scandalized yelp. Hot man, who he’s now realizing is Jaebum, is rolling his eyes.

“I’ve seen your dick and you’re trying to hide your stomach from me?”

In defense, it’s too early to deal with this.

“Mark said to wake you up, said you wanted a shower.”

“Is he… Did he leave?”

“He went to drop Yugyeom off on campus.” Jaebum makes to leave, pausing in the doorway. “Jinyoungie’s making breakfast. Put some pants on and come eat.“ And he leaves without shutting the door even though he very well knows that Jackson’s butt-naked. And they reconvene in the bathroom, where Jaebum hands him an extra set of towels and a washcloth and basically tells him he can use any of the many products lining the shelves in the shower. It’s a free for all. He shows him how to use the dials in the tub and Jackson doesn’t know how to say that he has the same set up at home, he even used this very shower last night, so just nods along like he’s never used a shower before.

He tries to be quick, too, afraid to use up all the hot water in someone else’s house. Mark decides to enter when he’s done showering and drying himself off.

Do these people not understand privacy?!

Mark seems amused by Jackson’s internal struggle, but doesn’t say anything. He instead pulls an extra toothbrush from under the sinks and leaves behind everything Jackson needs for a clean mouth; toothpaste, mouthwash and floss. How dental hygienist of him.

Jackson has breakfast with Mark, Jinyoung, Jaebum and Youngjae around a table, the television playing the weather forecast behind them, but none of them paying attention to it, instead laughing and sharing stupid stories. Even when Bambam stumbles in later, around the time Jaebum and Youngjae are getting ready to go, things are so nice, so casual, and Jackson would love to do this every morning.

He leaves around the same time Youngjae and Jaebum do, heart skipping happily as he watches the trio exchange kisses, heart flinging out his chest when Mark leans in to give him his own good-bye kiss.

He would definitely love to do this every morning.

**\------------------------------------------------**

_I’m twenty-four._ He keeps telling himself. _I’m mature. I don’t need a babysitter._

Yixing is off to the side talking with Coach Fitzpatrick, making him smile a bit. Jackson has no idea how Yixing manages that since Coach never smiles, not even when Jackson does something right, or cracks a joke, or trips and falls on his face. He’s never even smiled at Vanessa, Jackson’s boxing coach, who’s Coach Fitzpatrick’s granddaughter. She takes Jackson a few times a week in the evenings, long after Fencing is done with for the day, so granted, Jackson hasn’t seen them interact much, but still. It’s always done with that same, stoic expression on his face, looking like he just ate a lemon.

One of Jackson’s teammates thwacks him over the head with a saber. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” He rubs his head where it faintly hurts. “Waiting on my manager.”

She hums, glancing between her teammate and his manager. “I’d be screwed if my manager were that hot.” She pulls her blond hair out of a ponytail. “Literally screwed.”

Jackson’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. This isn’t the first time Sarah has made these comments about Yixing. “So you’ve told me.”

All he gets is a laugh, and she pats him on the shoulder and goes back to the mat. 

As if he can finally sense Jackson’s gaze on him, Yixing turns and scans the gym. He grins and waves Jackson to come over. 

If they hadn’t known each other for most of their lives, Jackson would’ve crushed on Yixing and his shy, boyish charms. Instead he’s like the brother Jackson’s never had; calls him _gege_ , and usually runs into his arms first after a match. They greet each other with one arm hugs and Yixing pats his back, letting his hand linger for a second before it drops back to his side. 

Coach leaves them then, meeting with Vanessa by the mat. She spots Jackson and waves, and Jackson waves back. She’s tall and intimidating and Jackson loves her a lot.

“I finally met Vanessa.” Yixing tucks his phone away. “She’s really sweet. You’re lucky to have her training you.”

“Yeah, ‘Nessa is cool.” This is not why he’s here to talk. “It’s kind of annoying that I have to box on top of fencing, though.”

“It was your father’s suggestion.” 

“I figured.”

Always supportive and intuitive, Yixing leans in closer, the smell of his warm cologne is wispy, familiar and earthly. “Do you want me to speak with him?”

“What? No, no. I wanted to talk with you.” Jackson feels at home in the gym, where it stinks of b.o and there are sounds of sabers whipping through the air and people grunting echoing off the walls. Maybe it’s pathetic that he associates these sounds and odors with his life. Hopefully this isn’t what Mark smells on him when they’re close. He’d like to smell more like Yixing; mature and sensual.

“Okay, what’s on your mind?”

“Friday night.” Jackson tries to swallow around the lump of nervousness in his throat. “I know you wanted to go over the trip to New York, but could we -”

“Move it? Yeah. What about Thursday night? You don’t have boxing so we could do it then.”

To think, he’d been at wit’s end worrying over this. It’s so simple with his manager. Unlike Jackson’s parents, Yixing is willing to cooperate, and knows the value in having time off. He makes accomodations with a smile.

Jackson breathes in deeply, grinning, laughing a little and leaning into Yixing’s hand on his shoulder. “Yeah. Yes, please.”

**\------------------------------------------------**

There was a time when Jackson thought he was up to date with today’s most current music, but five songs into Bambam’s playlist, he realizes that he only listens to whatever is popular on the radio. Most of the songs Bambam listens to is in English, ranging from anything that’s hard rap to smooth R&B, to songs Jackson left behind in 1999, to stuff in an entirely different language.

Youngjae comes bursting into the bathroom for a few of them, yelling lyrics in a singing voice that’s something angelic, and then slips out when the chorus is over. Jackson guesses it’s K-Pop, and makes a mental note to get into it. Some songs are catchy as fuck, as Bambam constantly catches his shoulder to remind him to stop bopping around.

“Sit still.”

Bambam’s turned the bathroom into an UltaBeauty, smearing something purple all over Jackson’s freshly washed and moisturized face. “This is my _favorite_ primer.” He explains what he’s doing, but he sounds too much like a YouTube beauty guru. It’s a totally other language. They follow each other on Instagram and his followers nearly rivals Jackson’s. Bambam has Jinyoung post a Boomerang to his feed, and Jackson’s phone pings from where it’s charging on the counter, a notification that he’s been tagged.

He can vaguely hear Amber telling him, _you need to gay it up._ Is having a drag queen do his make-up gay enough?

He hates that he’s thinking about this so much. It shouldn’t matter. 

But he wants it to matter.

Oh, whatever.

“It’ll be subtle, okay?” Bambam has already dabbed on so much green and peach and purple ‘color-correcting’ concealer that Jackson’s wondering if they have different definitions for the same word. 

_They have to,_ Jackson thinks as Bambam mixes together two different foundations to find the perfect shade. He can’t believe how much crap is already layered on, but here comes Bambam with a brush, dappling on foundation.

Jackson can’t believe how still he sits while Bambam works at his face; coloring in his eyebrows, dabbing soft hues onto his eyelids, smearing darker pinks underneath, using a white pencil on his lashline. He seems to have multiples of the same thing, alternating between two different liquid liners to get it “perfect.”

Jinyoung comes in at one point, face already polished with foundation and soft blush, lips looking reddish. The flushed and pink look is good on him. He looks just as impressed by Jackson’s face as Jackson does Jinyoung’s face.

“Mark’s gonna love this.” He says it like he means it, and Bambam steps back to look at his art. 

“ _I’m_ loving this.”

Jackson blinks between the two, feeling the liquid liner cool against his eyelids.

“Okay, now pick a highlight.” Bambam has a handful of… stuff. Little round compacts, small tubes, all different colors and all just as shimmery as the next. The choices are narrowed down to two, a pink/blue one and a pink/purple one. Jackson goes for the one that makes him think of a mermaid.

Bambam nearly throws all the highlights into the sink, the expensive products clattering dangerously. “Perfect! Angle this way.” He waves his fingers in the air and Jackson turns, closing his eyes as Bambam smears the product on his cheekbones.

 

He had sat down a little before six-thirty, and now it’s almost eight. Bambam’s finishing up Jackson’s hair, spritzing more hairspray to keep it pushed back, off his forehead. 

Mark, who’s been locked out since he got home almost an hour ago, is banging on the door. “Bammie! Are you trying to kill him?!”

The apartment is in chaos; everyone’s trying to get ready, pop music still blaring, Jinyoung can’t find his favorite jeans, Yugyeom’s trying to lighten up his dark roots, and now, the doorbell is ringing. Amber, Sunyoung and Victoria had all been invited and they’re here, eight on the dot, like they were told to come through at.

Bambam puts on a show for everyone. He nearly dresses Jackson for him; a striped shirt with a blazer thrown over it; Jackson’s never thought this would be appropriate clubbing clothes, but paired with jeans ripped at the knee and his white Nike’s, he can see why it’s considered casual. The pants are tight, and when he spins for Bambam to get the final, put-together look, he hopes the brightness of his blush can’t be seen from underneath all the layers of shit on his face, because Bambam looks a little stunned.

“Okay, definitely wanna eat those thighs and ass. How much time do you spend in the gym?”

“Too much.” Jackson laughs, glowing at the praise.

With everyone seated in the living room and Jinyoung holding up his phone to capture the big reveal on camera, Bambam plays some 80’s pop song and presents Jackson with a flourish.

The reflection in the mirror had come as a shock; a good shock. But stunning nonetheless. Jackson’s skin glows, flawless and impeccably smooth, his cheekbones shimmery with pink/blue, his eyes lightly lined, rounding them, making them wider, and making them pop with soft pinks smudged on his eyelids. All the makeup did was accentuate everything he already has; and pushing his bangs back only served to fit everything like a frame. Jackson feels like he could conquer the world with this look; like there’s nothing can stop him and his high cheekbones.

Jackson looks stunning. Sharp and focused and _fine_. Ready to leave a trail of broken hearts, and hopefully capture just one.

Mark looks like he’s got whiplash. Which is (hopefully) a start in the right direction.

Amber is screaming, up on her feet in seconds, hands hovering, “Holy shit you look so _hot!_ Dude, you look, oh my God, amazing. You’re a god. Do you love this?”

“We love it.” Sunyoung comes over to take a closer look. “You look impeccable.”

Victoria makes a passing comment about needing a new make-up artist and Bambam swoons. 

But Mark is yet to say something, or even move from his spot. So Bambam pulls Jackson over, gesturing happily to his work of art. “So, I need the final approval from the, uh...”

Boyfriend?

Say it.

Jackson’s eyes flicker between Bambam and Mark, this millisecond gnawing at his insides.

_Please say boyfriend._

“- Boytoy.”

Oh.

Mark rolls his eyes and stands. Bambam swats his hands away. “No, you can look but don’t touch.”

So Mark laughs, and says, “I think, I definitely want you to fuck me before you take off your makeup.”

Jackson’s whole body runs hot while the rest of the room breaks into laughter. 

“No! You two are so loud.” Yugyeom makes an exasperated noise, but still laughs.

And it’s all good natured and loving and Jackson finds himself smiling, not forgetting the hurt of hearing Mark being called a boytoy instead of boyfriend. They haven’t discussed it, so he can’t say anything.

**\------------------------------------------------**

Bambam starts his makeup in the car, sitting in the backseat smushed between his boyfriend and Jackson, who’s bewildered by the amount of bobby pins and glitter he’s told to hold. A glue stick rolls against his foot and Bambam snags it.

“I need that.”

Jackson doesn’t ask. 

There’s a parking spot reserved for the performers and employees in a small, cramped lot behind the building. Jackson’s been this way through LA many times, there’s an Italian restaurant not too many blocks down that he frequents with his parents, and again, can’t believe he’s finding himself in unfamiliar grounds in familiar territory. This small community has been under his nose for years, hidden when he wishes it weren’t.

West Wing has a back entrance that Jaebum leads them through, dimly lit and tight with such a huge herd of them trying to squeeze through. Bambam pushes his way through a doorway covered in rainbow beads and Yugyeom goes with him. Mark explains that only the performers can go back there, and leads them down a small hallway through a heavy wooden door covered in stickers that Jackson doesn’t have time to get a good look at. He reaches back to grab Amber’s hand to not lose her.

The bar is as packed as any popular bar would be, crowds of people hanging around it, leaning over to flirt with the bartenders and order drinks of all pretty colors. There are more bottles of alcohol lined up against the wall here compared to any other bar Jackson’s been to. He scans the labels as Jaebum pushes his way through, somehow having changed in the seconds Jackson had turned away. His tank top is loose and flimsy and made of mesh, really leaving nothing to the imagination. His tattoo seems as prominent as ever, and the gleam of a nipple piercing teases through the mesh. His hair is gelled back, eyes sharp, cheekbones glittery, and tight shorts pull nicely over his thighs. 

Jackson’s thought this before and he’ll think it again - what the fuck how is Jaebum so hot.

For a second he wonders about Jinyoung and Youngjae, and if they can handle the way their boyfriend looks behind the counter for all these greedy eyes to ogle at. There’s really nothing for him to hide behind, since the mesh shirt just hangs barely low enough to hide the outline of his dick in those stupidly tight shorts. The vibrant ink of his arm demands attention and from here, Jackson can see a line of hangul tracing down the back of Jaebum’s leg, from the end of those tight, boxer-brief shorts down to his ankle.

“I can’t drink too much.” Amber gets really close to whisper in Jackson’s ear, and he leans even closer, looking away from Jaebum. She follows where his attention drew in from, and says, “Dude, maybe you should get a tattoo.”

“What? No. I’m too chicken. But I’ll make sure you don’t drink if you make sure I don’t drink. I have a flight at nine in the morning.”

“Oh, that’s still happening? You didn’t push it back?”

Jackson just shakes his head and orders a round of ciders. Low alcohol and still sweet. He’s not supposed to be drinking it, but one can’t kill him.

But one beer and so many Long Islands later, Jackson’s smashed. He loses Mark in the crowd and ends up with Amber’s arms around his neck, her breathing in his ear and thighs between his, and he’s hella confused. But they sway to the music, jumping and laughing and rocking against each other, sharing some vodka and gin mix between their two drinks. And Victoria, who had also vowed to not drink but is too gone to take that back, comes up behind him. 

Jackson’s dancing between two beautiful girls, head thrown back as he runs his hands through Victoria’s long, tangled hair.

The lights blur and people sweat, Jackson’s vaguely aware of what he’s risking if he’s caught between the two girls he’d had a scandal with, but doesn’t care. That’s the beauty of alcohol; who gives a fuck about anything.

Mark, who’s drunk and trips into the three, steals Jackson away. Apparently he’d been with Sunyoung and Youngjae, because he’s trading Jackson with Sunyoung and pulling him to the side, grabbing him by the hair to dance.

It’s ten - it’s eleven - Jackson’s lost his expensive denim jacket - and soon it’s midnight. There’s a small stage on the dance floor, elevated just by a few steps, and a small group of six of the most beautiful women Jackson’s ever seen come out on stage, all elegant in bright pumps.

Jackson has an arm around Mark, who can just barely hold the two of them up when Jackson leans forward to try and get a better look.

The host of the show has purple hair that falls down her back in perfect perfect perfect curls, bangs straight and even. Her long lashes flutter out at the ends, slim legs tucked into black leather pants. Every part of her outfit is showy, but comes together so well. She sticks a hand in the air, bangles dancing down her pale arm, nails long and rounded off, and puts the microphone up to a pair of lips that stay pink no matter how many times she runs her tongue over her mouth.

Jackson doesn’t know what she’s going to do, but he’s excited, sweating under the rainbow lights.

When she speaks, the whole world turns upside-down.

“That’s _Bambam_ -”

Mark hooks both arms around Jackson’s middle with a huge grin. 

“She’s hot. Does this make me still gay? Because… I’m… whatever Bammie wants me to be.”

Totally not put-off by the comment, Mark leans in and kisses Jackson’s cheek. Bammie, who’s out in full-performer mode, steps off the stage and makes it over to them in a few strides,

“Excuse me, hello, pay attention to me.” Mark says something in return, and she’s frowning. “I’m the star tonight. You’re here for me. Get those singles ready.”

Jackson grips Mark’s waist, gets a drunken vision of the first night the fucked Mark, and desire plummets through his stomach and down to the ground. But Amber’s pushing against his shoulder and Jinyoung is cheering from behind him so Jackson forces himself back into the moment.

Well, as best he can when he’s this drunk.

As Bammie introduces the performers for the night, Jackson is entranced by beautiful women and long curls. He cheers for all the Queens, and even Mark lets lose, inhibitions blurred by alcohol. His arm never unwraps from Jackson’s shoulders, though, and Jackson doesn’t move his arm from Mark’s waist.

All he knows is he enjoys the night, unconcerned about the consequences of the next morning. Bammie puts on a _show_ \- lip-syncing to some raunchy song with a fast chorus, climbs on some unsuspecting boy in the crowd and runs a hand through his hair, tipping his head back and getting so close that the guy’s blush stands out in the lights. Yugyeom just laughs and claps, teasing his boyfriend with a dollar bill that Bammie takes with her teeth and a suck on his finger in front of the whole crowd. Jackson screams along with the rest of them. He almost kisses Jinyoung’s cheek in thanks when Jinyoung hands him a few singles to hold out.

Bammie makes eye contact with him and squeezes between him and Mark, untangling them so she can have his arms around her waist, serenading Jackson with a few lines from a vulgar song, and then saunters off, leaving him blinking dumbly in her wake. Mark immediately clings back onto Jackson, who laughs and wraps both arms around him.

Dollars hang in the air, dollars are thrown over the crowd, and Bammie moves, slowly, with long strides and expressive hips, running a hand over her cinched sides without a bother of the bills being held out. She knows that she’s got everyone entranced, and no one will lower their arm until she’s taken their money. She’s making them wait, owning the whole room with a twirl and a side step perfectly timed to the music. 

Bammie sways her hips to the music and flips her hair, circling around the pole centered on stage. The song winds to an end, the chorus repeating one last time, and Bammie drops down into a split. Once the song is over her sultry expression drops, and she’s on her feet, waving and blowing kisses to the crowd. Then she takes the mic, acting as both host and performer to introduce the next Queen, and saunters backstage. Bammie gets the crowd to scream for her one last time, blowing a kiss before disappearing behind a curtain.

**\------------------------------------------------**

Bambam is out of his heels and arguably the most sober one. Jaebum had snuck a few tequila shots while on shift, while everyone was screaming over Bammie, and now they’re trying to fit everyone back into two cars to get them home.

It’s four in the morning and regret hasn’t started to shine over the horizon just yet.

The group of them stumble noisily in like a bunch of drunks, Jaebum digging through pockets to find keys to keep the girls from driving off in their inebriated states. Bambam attacks them with make-up wipes, working on taking off the bulk of foundation and eyeliners so their skin doesn’t suffer in the morning. Jinyoung passes out glasses of water and Yugyeom is on standby for refills. In the middle of all this, Mark grabs Jackson’s hand, yanks him into the bathroom and closes and locks the door behind him.

Jackson hears the click and thinks its weird that the door is actually being locked. There’s a first for everything, apparently, because the norm in this house is to just walk in on everyone.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted you to fuck me with a full face of makeup.”

Oh.

The effects of alcohol have mostly dissipated, but they’re both still a little wobbly, and Jackson’s moaning as soon as their lips press together. 

Jackson grabs Mark by the waist, shoving him against the counter, hair brushes and toothpaste being shoved aside. He devours Mark, leads the kiss, demands more, and Mark moans, low and needy and desperate. Until he’s turning around, moving things along quicker, the two of them tripping out of their pants.

Jackson only remembers needing protection when the individually wrapped condom is being forced into his palm, and Mark messily preps himself while Jackson slides it on, pushing a hand against Mark’s to join his finger in.

He licks up the sweat on Mark’s neck, pushes him a little harder against the counter, and waits for Mark to tell him he’s good to go. 

The sign isn’t verbal; it’s Mark grabbing him by the dick, leading him, while Mark leans over the counter. While they don’t last long, both too tipsy to last, it feels amazing. Jackson grabs at Mark’s thighs and Mark has his face buried in his arm, bent over the counter, shutting himself up by muffling his noses into his skin. Jackson pumps Mark’s dick, pulling them both over the edge at almost the same time. It’s the stutter of Mark’s hips and the way he clenches around Jackson’s dick that puts them both over the edge.

Mark pulls Jackson in after he’s thrown the dirty condom out, kissing him sweetly. Drawn-out. Their lips lingering before pressing forward for another one, and one more before they unlock the door and move to rub off their makeup. Mark uses oil, rubbing it all over his face and washing the crap down the sink. He introduces Jackson to Jinyoung’s long skincare routine, smiling as Mark kisses him between each step. Jackson grips Mark’s waist, keeping him close, leaning their foreheads together and giggling in the same space.

“Thanks for tonight.”

Mark’s hand curls around Jackson’s neck, pressing their noses together. “For what?”

“For being by my side.” Jackson pauses, and in that breath Mark pulls away just enough, smiling, eyes glimmering. “You didn’t have to be, it’s not like we’re dating, but you stayed with me. And I appreciate it. It’s really nice. You’re - it’s - we’re, it’s cool. You’re cool.”

Mark’s expression drops. In a heartbeat. Jackson notices, but he’s still feeling like the world is sideways, so he doesn’t know what to think.

“Not dating.” Mark’s voice is tight. He pulls himself from Jackson’s hold, who hadn’t realized how close they’d been until the air between them suddenly feels cold. It doesn’t matter that they’re in the middle of the summer. There’s an uncomfortable chill spreading out through the room. 

Bambam pushes the door open and the feeling wafts out, making him still in the doorway to glance between the two. He’s clearly uncomfortable, soaking in the vibe thrumming through the bathroom, shoulders squaring back.

“I, uh, don’t want to interrupt. But Sunyoung is drunkely mumbling about a flight to catch?”

“That’s me.” Jackson struggles for his phone but it’s not in his pockets. Bambam fills him in on the time - nearly five am - and Jackson’s frowning. “Fuck, I have to get home. My manager is picking me up in less than an hour.”

Jaebum drives Jackson home since he’s not well enough to drive himself. They idle for a minute in the driveway, Jaebum whistling and mumbling, “impressive,” under his breath as he stares up at the house.

Jackson leans over the console to thank him and squeeze tight for a hug, and promises to let someone know when he lands. Inside he finds his already packed suitcase (thank god he planned ahead on Thursday) and takes a moment to look in the mirror. He’s got that after-sex glow, illuminated by the serums and moisturizers Mark had silently rubbed over his skin. The awkwardness from that moment still clings to Jackson, soaking in like the moisturizer working valiantly to try and heal his sleep deprived, greasy, sloppy skin.

**\------------------------------------------------**

LaGuardia is a mess of people, and Jackson’s fighting off the tail-end of drunkness and now he just feels like _shit_. Everything feels fucking awful. He’s surprised he hasn’t vomited up everything he’s eaten, because it feels like a bug is crawling up and down his throat, into his belly and back up to the back of his mouth. He snags some medication from a nearby stand, tugging his hat lower. Yixing’s been eyeing him the whole flight, asking why he can’t get comfortable, or why he isn’t eaten, or why he looks green.

The sun boils against his eyeballs and he’s sweating from the back of his knees. The ride to the hotel is the biggest walk of shame. The Uber driver recognizes him, and spins around from the front seat to stare at Jackson, green eyes wide and full of star-stunned wonder.

They have to chat, and Jackson puts on the show of his life while pretending to not want to gag and roll over and die.

Yixing gets everything together while Jackson struggles behind him, going through the motions of checking in and making his way up to their floor, his backpack dragging on the floor.

“Are you drunk…?”

Jackson pushes his sweaty forehead against the cool elevator wall. His gut feels like it’s dangling through the floor, being lifted through the floors.

“Ah, yeah. You are.” Yixing finds the room and pushes the door open, helping to bring the suitcases in. “I’ll bring up lots of ginger ale, water, and Gatorade. I’ll order you dinner in a bit, too. I can’t believe you went out. I had such a good surprise for you, too.”

Yixing, overstepping his role as a manager to play the brother that Jackson sees in him, puts a hand on the fencer’s shoulder. Jackson leans into it, sighing when circles are rubbed onto his back. He really appreciates Yixing. The guy has been in this world his whole life; his mother was a figure skater, and he’s grown up half living on the ice, watching his mother, following her around, learning the ins and outs of an athlete’s world. He could’ve worked to be an athlete, but he went to school for business instead. Jackson was his first job out of college, and Jackson’s dad had been his in because of family friends, and all that. Like a lot of the other relationships in Jackson’s life.

He remembers Mark - and Jaebum, Jinyoung, Youngjae, Yugyeom and Bambam, the exceptions to that rule.

Unfortunately, he can’t sleep just yet. He unpacks his important things while his body shakes, ignores calls from his parents, and greedily eats all the food Yixing orders for him. Then he face-plants in the bed.

The hotel bed is soft and smells a little like a meadow, like some generic off-brand of laundry detergent. It’s good. Not too strong, doesn’t make Jackson’s stomach churl like old milk. He grabs for his phone and takes a shaky video of the hotel room, making sure to get the view of the open window in there. He adds all his friends into a chat on Whatsapp, and sends it. So they know he’s made it safe. Then he drops the phone into the sheets and closes his eyes, knocking into a sleep so deep it’s like he doesn’t exist in this world anymore.

**\------------------------------------------------**

The sun is still shining when he wakes up.

Yixing is in the room, sitting in the ugly. beige-leather chair near the window. It doesn’t look comfortable at all, the back of it too tall and the arms curved like vintage thrones from chairs in museums. Jackson rubs at his smooth face; a miracle from Jinyoung’s skincare routine.

He asks for the time in half-English, half-Mandarin.

“It’s seven.” Yixing looks up from his phone, stabbing what looks like a crepe, into his mouth. Jackson’s stomach clenches. He’s not sure if he’s hungry or still hungover. “You slept almost thirteen hours.” A crease folds into his forehead, right through, from temple to temple. “How are you feeling?”

Jackson shoves his face back into the sheets and sighs, immediately regretting creating a dutch oven of his own stank breath. He rolls over and buries his face in his hands. blinking up at the popcorn ceiling, finding shapes in the weird design.

“I have to ask. About the photos. Your parents are… worried.” 

All the effects of the alcohol have washed out of his system, Jackson thinks he got up a few times to pee, and once to throw up, before his final drop into bed to sleep the rest of the night, so he feels crummy, but no longer like shit. Which, in turn, means his brain works at almost-normal processing speed.

Photos can only mean one thing. 

“I’m also supposed to ask about the Boomerang of you on a Drag Queen’s Instagram.”

“Yeah.”

“Jackson?”

He hums and rolls back over to dramatically suffocate himself in the putrid stench of his own hungover morning breath.

“Jackson… People are asking a lot of questions. Have you seen the comments - well,” Yixing seems to catch himself. “I know you just woke up, but, you should take a look. Some of them are very, very bad.”

“We’re friends.” Jackson means the drag queens. Yixing takes a moment to catch on.

“You posted a picture of them, too.”

Yeah, Jackson has a faint recollection of that. A photo of him and one of the other queens crowded up against the bar, Jackson pulled into Bammie’s bosom, grinning like an idiot, his eyeliner visible with the way he’s angled his chin up, catching his contour, looking everything like the end result of being attacked by a beauty guru. Beautiful and sharp and _gay._

“Do you need to tell me something?”

Yeah.

“No.”

“Is everything that’s going on with you… okay?”

No.

“Yeah.”

Yixing sighs, Jackson has still to even look over. But he can’t do it, not now. So he slaps at the comforter until he finds his cell phone, rolling over on his back to scan through his notifications. They’re overwhelming, he has a few thousand on his post already, and Bambam’s post has nearly just as many. Some comments are sweet;

_Jackson is such an angel!!_

_OMG!!! HOW DID THEY MEET??? THE FANDOM CROSSOVER I DIDN’T KNOW I NEEDED!!_

_Is that…. jackson wang the fencer guy? He’s so? Beautiful?_

_I’m feeling attacked by the SIZE of those biceps in contrast to the fierceness of that eyeliner_

The angrier comments flood in, too;

_lmao wang can’t fence anymore bc he’s a fag_

_explains why he’s been so mia_

_wow…… i’m so disappointed :( is he one of the gays?_

_ew he fucks w he/shes??? GROSS_

In his new group chat, there’s 165 unread messages. He skims through them, his friends giving each other support, letting each other know they’ve arrived to their homes safely, and a few exchanges of phone numbers. Youngjae makes a comment about the replies under Jackson’s post, and they all agree to ignore the haters.

Jackson drops his phone back in into the sheets and pretends like he didn’t see the numerous missed calls from his parents. 

“Are you…” Yixing’s voice trails off, his question unclear, like a fog settling, letting it hang so that it can be taken any direction in which Jackson wishes for it to go.

“Yeah.” Jackson says, arms crossed over his face.

Not a sound echoes through the room. New York City is completely muted behind the window pane, not a single person rolls by in the hallway. Not even the A/C makes noise. The silence is exhausting and raw. Cold. Like there’s nothing else out there.

“I’m gay. Those are my friends that make me feel comfortable with who I am.”

Yixing shifts in his seat, his sweatpants rubbing against the faux-leather. He sighs, and it seems to echo. The stillness does nothing but make Jackson feel worse. Stifling and uncomfortable, sitting on his chest like bricks, making his breathing shallow, his throat close up.

But then the bed shifts and Jackson lifts his arms, blinking at his manager who’s coming to lie at his side, arms open and accepting.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly Jackson throws himself into Yixing arms, gripping the front of his shirt and pressing his face into his chest.

“We can…”

Yixing doesn’t say anything else. Not for a long, long time.

“Amber and Victoria are out to the public. It took some time, but they’re adored by a lot of people. Don’t..”

Jackson’s chest heaves, tears slipping down his cheeks and Yixing holds him tighter.

“Don’t think you have to hide this.”

“My… parents…”

“Don’t worry about them. You know I’ll be here supporting you.” 

A few words isn’t going to fix everything. But knowing Yixing doesn’t care, is still here to support him, makes Jackson think that maybe this isn’t going to be the hardest thing he’ll do.

**\------------------------------------------------**

Yixing’s been mumbling about a surprise the whole trip, and finally reveals it after they’ve made it back to the hotel from breakfast. Jackson’s sitting cross-legged on the bed blowing into a scalding cup of pomegranate green tea, letting the scent fill up his nose now that he’s feeling better and not hungover, and Yixing lets the surprise introduce himself.

Luhan comes barreling into Jackson’s room and launches himself at Jackson. Luhan screams, “Your hair is brown now!” and the same time Jackson catches him, yelling, “You’re blond! You look like an idol!”

Their size difference is cute; Luhan is taller, not by much, but he’s small, lithe and tight. He settles against Jackson’s chest, wrapping two arms around Jackson’s waist, mumbling, “I’m pretty enough to be an idol.”

“Yeah,”

“So,” Luhan lifts his head, bringing the two of their faces very close, but Luhan is the friend Jackson’s known for over a decade now, and distance has never severed their bond. So he happily smushes their faces together, trying to get a hug while Luhan rushes to speak. “Did I miss something? Are you out of the closet?”

There had been a very healing conversation between Jackson and his manager not too long ago, and Jackson and Luhan knows the other is gay, too, so this conversation is not falling into treacherous ground. He drapes an arm over Luhan’s shoulder and shrugs, leaning back against the pillows as Luhan rolls off, lying side by side, arms still loosely thrown over each other.

Jackson’s struggles sometimes when he doesn’t know translations for certain terms, but Luhan doesn’t speak English so they work on some words together. Luhan’s curious and interested in Jackson’s night out at a Drag Show. Yixing walks in at one point, turns white when he sees them cuddled on the bed, and makes a clumsy exit. 

“He knows, by the way.”

Luhan drops his head against the pillows. His features are dainty, the lines of his face are quick and striking, and the dirty blond mess of hair makes him look like an angel. “Knows that you play for the same team, or that you and I have a good relationship with each other?” He laughs when Jackson elbows him, grinning even wider when Jackson tells him it’s the former, but Yixing is probably suspecting the latter, now. “It’s been over a year since I’ve seen you, so we’re not gonna get to that.” His smile pulls. “Maybe later.” And he pats Jackson’s stomach right over the end of V of his abs.

All Jackson does is roll his eyes, but his mind rushes to Mark. It does that a lot, like even when Mark’s not a part of the conversation, he’s still ever-present. Jackson doesn’t want to interpret that. Not yet. He’s not dumb, he’s aware of his blossoming feelings, but he’s very much aware that Mark doesn’t want to play some dumb, dangerous game with a celebrity athlete. 

It’s fair. So they’re friends. With benefits? And some really domestic moments that has Jackson feeling all sorts of messed up. Like that moment in the bathroom before he left for NYC, where Mark dabbed eye cream around his eyes for him, a toothbrush sticking out his foamy mouth. His hair had still been teased, unwashed and caked with mousse, and drunk Jackson had wanted to tangle it up, muss it up on his own accord.

But the thing is, even now, with the last bit of alcohol drained from his system, he’d want to kiss Mark slowly, feel his warmth of Mark.

“Let’s get lunch.”

Food. Right, food is good. Even if Jackson only ate an hour or so ago. He could use an excuse to stretch his legs; go outside and breathe in that musty city air, and get a vendor hot dog, and get lost in the subways with Luhan. They take the wrong train three times. But in his defense, Jackson doesn’t know New York and the only English Luhan knows are cuss words and some basic stuff incase he gets lost.

Central Park is an oasis in the middle of the city, and they buy tickets to the Central Park zoo. They take pictures of the animals and Jackson does his best to translate as many animal fun-facts as he can. A couple recognizes them, and they take a few selfies with some tourists.

Vendor food is a must, so they buy some hot dogs and Snapple and lie on the grass, staring up at the clouds.

Jackson and Luhan have been friends forever, so the day is natural progression of jokes, filling each other in on things they never explained through text, and hearing how each other’s families are doing. Luhan is sympathetic when he hears his parents are cautious about the drag queens and fierce makeup.

“There’s no way they haven’t figured it out yet.” Luhan takes a candid shot of Jackson on the corner of 5th ave, the library standing proud in the background. They’ve done a lot of walking and talking.

It gets posted on Luhan’s Instagram with a pretty filter, he tags Jackson and captions it, _Brotha from anotha motha._

Jackson sees it when they’re in the subway, trying to add money to their metrocards, intimidated by the speed at which others do it at. “Where did you even learn that?”  
.  
Luhan clings to him with a dramatic flare and loud sigh. “The _love_ of my _life_ -”

“That guy you posted a million photos of last weekend?”

“Wu Yifan.” Luhan sighs dreamily. Jackson grins. He’s never seen his friend so smitten. “The apple of my eye. He’s a basketball player. My manager introduced us at a game and we’ve been talking. Kind of.” He recounts the timeline of his jaded love story. The poor guy has it out for a straight dude with long legs. He groans like he’s in physical pain, and Jackson can relate. A little. Mark’s not tall, he’s small and cute and fits perfectly against Jackson’s body when they cuddle, but the feelings aren't mutual.

“At least you’re getting it from your crush.” Luhan starts, but at least looks sympathetic. “Actually, I don’t know what’s worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my first time writing smut like this rip


	3. Are You Happy Now

Jackson wakes the next morning in a familiar position with Luhan. Curled around each other, naked thighs pressed together. 

For a split second he thinks it’s Mark. But the hair isn’t blond enough. The shoulders are too small. He feels guilt in his stomach, in his heart. It’s just Luhan. They’re best friends. They’ve done this a bunch of times. They’ve questioned this, talking in circles about it, and it’s been a steady, on-going thing for years now. The first time had been when they were still young and looking to experiment; Jackson was feeling needy and wasn’t sure who else to talk to, and Luhan already knew of his own sexual orientation, too. After much discussion they decided this would be safe. They’d agreed on this. They’ve been friends forever. They still want the other to date someone and fall in love. 

It’s safe. Mutual. Platonic. Which is what his relationship with Mark is supposed to be like, as it’s already been established. It’s been established over text, in front of Mark’s friends, in the bathroom before Jackson left for NYC: just friends.

The door clicks open just as Jackson is trying to drown his emotions with more sleep. He and Luhan stayed up way too late chatting and gossiping. And fucking. A few more hours of sleep can’t hurt anyone.

Yixing uses his keycard to open the door and steps into the room, and Jackson blinks blearily at him, an arm hooking around the lithe body pressed against his bare chest.

Poor, poor Yixing doesn’t know what to do. He steps back, covers his eyes, uncovers them, stammers, seems to suddenly forget all the languages he knows. Blankets cover Jackson and Luhan from their waists down, but nothing about what happened could possibly be misinterpreted. The room’s got that stale sex smell, they’re both clearly naked, and Jackson thinks he might’ve left a hickey on Luhan’s shoulder. They’ve made a promise to never kiss on the lips.

With his gut already twisting - he at least feels bad about putting his manager in this awkward situation - Jackson thinks of all the times he’s kissed Mark, and misses a very certain pair of lips.

Luhan stirs against Jackson’s chest, wiggling just enough to loosen the arms around him, and roll over on his back. He grapples for the blankets without opening his eyes, yanking the covers to his chin.

“This is happening so fast.” Yixing suddenly says, sounding breathless even though he hasn’t moved from his spot. Luhan shoots up into a sitting position at the sound of the voice, wincing at the harsh movement, slapping a hand over his lower back. His face turns red; pink on his cheeks and flaring crimson to his ears. Jackson drops back into the sheets, not even feeling an ounce of the panic that’s radiating off of his friends. He probably should get in a word or two as the two converse in rapid Mandarin, but he trusts the two men. He feels weird, the tips of his fingers tingling. Whatever that is feels more important than Yixing walking in on him and China’s Sweetheart the morning after good sex.

Luhan nudges him so Jackson rolls over on his back.

“We have to go to the shoot.”

“I thought that wasn’t until three?”

“They pushed it up.” Yixing looks much less deer-caught-in-headlights with some color back in his cheeks. “You have two shoots today instead of one today and one tomorrow.”

“What? Why?”

“Your parents want you to go straight to China from here.”

Jackson lifts his head at that, thinking about the week he was supposed to have back in LA before going to China, as Luhan turns to him and says, “Hey, does that mean you’re flying back with me? Can we get seats together?” He turns to Yixing, who’s already dutifully pulling out his phone. “Can we?”

**\------------------------------------------------**

**Group Chat: Kiki**  
10 members:  
markt, b_bammie, jacks_wang, defjb, cyj333, yug_yeom, parkjin, iam_llama, vsong, lunaaa

JB & Jin im stealin’ yo man for the day  
> markt

Take good care of him.  
> defjb

wow hyungs...……… you’re nto even gonna pretend to miss me?????????  
rude. im on a date w/mark anyway bye  
> cyj333

Don’t get me caught up in your weird 3-way  
> markt

markie u literally dragged youngjae out of bed for ice cream and then told EVERYONE that u were taking him  
> b_bammie

“weird” 3-way?  
It’s funny that I remember you being the one to tell me “just fuck both of them at the same time.”  
> defjb

Shutup you know what I mean  
And yes that was me because I couldn’t deal with how you guys just wouldn’t deal with your feelings. But then you took my advice, and now look at how great your relationship and sex life is!  
You’re welcome.  
> markt

omfg I rememver when this happened mark SNAPPED  
> yug_yeom

I’m so glad we’re talking about my sex life in a GROUP CHAT  
Amber, Sunyoung and Victoria, we’ve only met once before so I’m sorry my boyfriends and friends are a disaster. Please don’t block us, I’d like to be friends.  
> parkjin

[PHOTO]  
a cute boi and a cute pup  
> markt

amber and i have been friends  
> defjb

HI COCO  
I LOVE YOU COCO  
lmao yes JB AND I BEEN BUDS WHERE YALL BEEN AT?  
> am_llama

COCO LOVES YOU TOO  
(when did you two become friends….?)  
> cyj333

lol of course not! This is a welcoming group we don’t judge, Jinyoung  
> vsong

WHAT A GOOD GIRL COCO  
U GO GLEN COCO  
> am_llama

coco needs to spend some quality times with her parents  
> cyj333

also dude it’s totally cool it’s not like jackson doesn’t share EVERYTHING with me! what better way to form friendships than to reveal all the deep shit  
> iam_llama

Everything?  
> markt

LOLOLOL GLEN COCO  
> yug_yeom

yeah, mark. Everything. If you’re wondering if i know about THAT, then yes. i do.  
> iam_llama

oooooooooooooo gurl what’s “THAT”  
spill da beans  
> b_bammie

idk whatever he’s thinking of  
> iam_llama

so Youngjae, you’re dating Jaebum and Jinyoung but you call Mark your husband?  
> vsong

……...…  
Yes.  
that sounds so bad when you put it that way  
> cyj333

Anyway…  
No I’m the only one in jae’s life  
> markt

JB-hyung and I are  
Hey  
Markie no.  
> parkjin

mark: don’t involve me in your shit  
mark, 2 seconds later: literally drags youngae out of bed that he’s in with?? his?? boyfriends?? and brings him on a romantic date to the park  
also mark: adopts a dog w/youngjae and calls them her “parents”  
ALSO MARK pt.2000: tells everyone they’re married in a group chat  
> b_bammie

I’ll flush your fenty foundation down the toilet  
> markt

:o  
> yug_yeom

I’LL FLUSH ///YOU/// DOWN THE TOILET  
> b_bammie

[PHOTO]  
(spongebob narrartor voice) 10 hours later…..  
thats how long ive been in the STUDio with these ilghts on my face i think i sweat out m y own body weight  
they got me head to toe in sweats  
jacks_wang <

wow a sweet little lemon drop  
> b_bammie

diD YOu sAy LEMoN DrOP  
> am_llama

this is lq pics but we modelin for adidas!!  
ID DYOU CALL ME LITTEL  
jacks_wang <

LEMON DROP  
> am_llama

OH WOW!!!!!  
> yug_yeom

i keep forgetting…… we have a celebrity in the g.c  
> cyj333

We have a bunch of celebrities in the group chat, my love  
Jackson! JB and I think you look amazing! The yellow is so fitting. This is such a great opportunity for you and we hope it opens more doors for you! I’m glad you made it.  
You look like sunshine.  
> parkjin

this is so surreal  
mark’s fanning himself  
says it’s the sunglasses  
> cyj333

okay but is no one gonna make a ‘mark sucks all the bitterness out’ joke bc i swung that door right the fuck open  
> b_bammie

LEMON DROp????  
literally jacks has this weird and kinda annoying outer shell but then he’s all sweet on the inside so like i’m taking this  
> am_llama

I’m drowning fenty, bam  
> markt

I want $5 every time you say it amber, I’m trademarking it  
> b_bammie

Done. What’s your venmo?  
> am_llama

Hey mark sucks the bitterness right out of that lemon drop!!!  
> yu_gyeom

You are way too late to the party, yuggy, it’s over. Everyone’s gone home.  
> parkjin

[PHOTO]  
servin luks  
jacks_wang <

THAT’S LUGAN  
LUJAN  
LU!!!  
> cyj333

wait THE FUCK amber did you just call me annoying  
jacks_wang <

I have the bestest most supportive boyfriend ever  
> b_bammie

youngjae you follow the china olypmians too???  
jacks_wang <

Woah what happened Youngjae looked at his phone and screamed  
> markt

yes jacks can u read  
also Tell Lulu he’s a fuckin’ copycati dyed my hair this color first  
> am_llama

love u babe  
also don’t piss mark off remember that one time he broke the a/c in the car?  
> yu_gyeom

Jackson!! I didn’t know you were going to be a part of that shoot, too! You both look great! Doing any couple shots?  
> vsong

there can only be one (1) dirty blond asian i’ll fight him  
hold up what about breaking cars?  
> am_llama

A literal fight, since you’re both fencers.  
> parkjin

oh shit u rite  
> am_llama

I’m blond  
> markt

ok but if you’re going around hulk-smashing cars i’ll just………. let it slide  
there can only be Two (2) dirty blond asians lulu has to go  
> iam_llama

OLYMPIC FENCERS AND OLYMPIC FENCER MODELS  
THIS IS WEIRD  
HI  
> yug_yeom

I didn’t hulk smash anything  
bam wtf  
> markt

I hate to rain on the happiness and love going on in this kiki  
also bambam or yugyeom pls tell me that story later  
jacks_wang <

“happiness and love”” while mark started the catfight over youngjae, is challenging me and THE GODDESS RIRI HERSELF,, and amber is always ready to duke it out with someone  
yea g0rl i got u i’ll call u later  
> b_bammie

but i’m actuall going bac kt o china tomorrow i’m not going back to la :((((  
jacks_wang <

PORQUOI  
((tbh i should’ve been like a boxer or smth))  
> am_llama

idk it was my moms idea  
jacks_wang <

im gonna fite her  
> am_llama

When will you be back in LA?  
> markt

5 weeks?  
im going back with luhan, mom wants me extra ready for the tournament next week  
jacks_wang <

oh wait that’s in a week  
shit  
i’m a fake  
OH SHIT MY FLIGHT LEAVES ON WEDS LMAO  
> am_llama

babe, I told you about it last night  
I didn’t realize you weren’t listening.  
> lunaaa

NO I PROBABLY FELL ASLEEP BABE I LOVE YOU  
> am_llama

Amber are you participating in the tournament?  
> parkjin

hell yea and i;m gonna cream luhan  
> am_llama

he says he’s gonna stab you in the heart with his saber  
he’ll be waiting for u at the airport  
jacks_wang <

tell him he’s a p.o.s  
no fake translation tell him word for word he’s a piece of shit  
> am_llama

he says he didn’t know you felt so strongly about him  
but maybe he loves you too  
he doesn’t want ot move too fast in the relationship  
esp since you’re both gay af  
oh sunyoung he’s asking how you’re doing  
jacks_wang <

i want to stab him  
whatever i’ll just dm him!!!! i don’t need u i acn face him myself  
> am_llama

GAY OLYMPICS  
my IDOLS ARE ALL GAAAAAY  
> cyj333

Tell him I’m good!! It’s been too long and hopefully I’ll see him in China at the tournament. If I can get the time off to go :(  
And that pic he posted of you yesterday was super cute!  
> lunaaa

yo youngjae’s about to have a heart attack and coco’s crying can you guys chill  
> markt

are you asking me to chill on my…. celebritiness?  
> am_llama

Good job keeping it humble  
> vsong

okay but??? i’m??? literally????  
> am_llama

**\------------------------------------------------**

Luhan hums, tapping on a photo that’s two years old to get it full screen. Jackson’s heart lunges into his throat, hoping that the photo isn’t liked, because then Mark will get the notification that Jackson’s been scrolling through his Instagram as if there’s nothing else he can do with his time.

“He is hot. Just tell him you like him.”

Jackson sinks lower in the subway seat, groaning louder than the rush of the train through the tunnels. Someone is blasting Khalid from a boombox, and he hopes he can drown his heart in the sounds of busy Manhattan, maybe leave it to be stampeded by the masses of travelers. He doesn’t want to deal with this. 

“You wear your heart on your sleeve.” Luhan says, eyeing a teenager thats glancing between them and her phone. “He’ll figure it out.”

“Amber’s said the same thing.”

“Yeah, this is why we’re all friends.” He’s too pretty to be frowning the way he is, lines deep around his mouth. His eyebrows are plucked and neat, furrowing together. 

Yixing lifts his head suddenly, gesturing for both of them. “Straighten up. Someone’s taking pictures of you.”

Jackson slumps his head back and slouches further, not caring about the phone pointed in his direction.

**\------------------------------------------------**

It’s not intentional, but the tournament takes up all of his time and Jackson doesn’t message Mark back for a whole two weeks. He forgets his phone back at the hotel, or sets it aside when he’s visiting family or with his grandmother, because she can’t stand “kids today with their technology.” But at some point, between another photoshoot, the tournament, training, seeing his family, and some magazine interviews that he links in the group chat, he manages a selfie with Luhan between matches. It goes up on Instagram, the two of them standing side-by-side, arms hanging over each other’s shoulders; casual, like they hadn’t sucked each other off the night before and really are just good hetero bros.

Maybe Mark will see it. 

Amber also posts a photo of Luhan and Jackson sitting side-by-side on the bleachers. She caught them mid-laugh, and put a caption saying how glad she is to be competing with her two best fencing buddies. She takes another one hugging Luhan, with Jackson photobombing it in the background. He’s mid-step falling off a bleacher and Amber tags the white blur of fencing gear as him. He reposts it and it gets a like from Mark. But the one with him and Luhan remains unliked and maybe Jackson’s reading too much into this social media thing.

On one of the last days there, Jackson and Amber are seated on some very uncomfortable chairs in front of a pretty reporter with long hair. Everything starts off well. She’s very friendly and approachable, keeps tucking her hair behind her ear, and doesn’t show an ounce of discomfort near Amber. Some female interviewers or reporters stand at least a two arm’s length away from the “Lesbian American Fencer.” It makes the hairs on Jackson’s arm bristle. 

Interviews are a weird thing to do, no matter how many Jackson’s done, on and off camera. He lets his charisma overflow, laughing and jumping, energetic with the cameras pointing at him. He’s beyond nervous, his foot tapping when he tries to sit still for more than a few moments at a time. He fidgets a lot because it hides how his hands shake. At least there’s always a focus when it comes to these interviews: fencing, and his friendship with other fencers. These things are easy to navigate. But having been out of the spotlight for a few years and watching mostly from the sides has him a bit rusty. He thinks this will be the era he overcomes this and shakes off all the tarnish.

A whole new wave of panic crashes and knocks him the hell over when the reporter asks with a dazzling smile, “So you two have managed to become friends after the scandal?”

Jackson thinks he can control his face. But he can’t. His fingers go cold but his stomach churns, and he fumbles. The camera lights are too bright, burning his skin and cheeks and even Amber has been caught off guard, letting out a long, awkward laugh that stifles the air. 

“I mean, I’m, it’s.” This is a Chinese broadcast, and her Mandarin becomes shaky. “I’m sure we’ve cleared that misunderstanding.”

It opens a door for Jackson to leap through, but he can’t. He tries to take a tentative step, though, still frozen in his thoughts. “Yeah, we’ve all been friends for a long time. Someone was going to question it, after a while, I guess. At some point. Even if it’s not true.”

The reporter retains her impeccable composure. “So you and Victoria were never serious?”

Jackson blanches, overcompensates by flapping his hands about. “We were never… a thing.”

“But you spent the night in Victoria’s hotel room?”

The mic gets pushed back in his direction, and he’s sweating now. It runs cold down his back. Yixing is pacing on the sidelines, whispering to one of the men manning the prompter. He does not look happy. 

Jackson looks back at her, laughing it off. “That was three years ago. We’re all friends. Just friends.”

The SNS photos flood his mind; the rumors were that he and Amber were dating. They’d been over it a thousand times - _just friends_ , but the media never believed them. The tabloids were everywhere, reporters used to wiggle their eyebrows at the two during interviews, as if expecting them to just come out with it. For years, Jackson and Amber evaded dating rumors with tight smiles and tired laughs. But at the point in his career where his popularity would either shoot up or shoot down, he was caught leaving Victoria’s hotel room. Some paparazzi found her room and parked themselves in the hall in the morning, around the time unsuspecting Jackson left after a night of crashing in her room.

Of course nothing had happened; he’s gay, and even though she’s expressed her interest in women as much as men, they’re just friends. But the media gripped their grubby claws around the photos and it blew up, headlines screaming that Jackson cheated on his long-time girlfriend with a figure skater. It nearly destroyed his reputation, labeling him as some unfaithful playboy that couldn’t keep it in his pants, and Victoria nearly got removed from the Olympics that following year. She competed with stunning precision, but anti’s still shouted at her from the stands and the tabloids had very expressive things to say about a professional that slept with up-and-coming male athletes seven years younger.

Jackson blames himself for almost destroying his idol’s career. He blames himself for Amber’s public out, because she publicly came out of the closet only months after the incident, and sometimes he thinks that she felt forced to do so. Amber’s assured him a million times that it’s not the case, but he wonders if she’d been lying to save their friendship. Her coming out only complicated things more for all of them, and it resurfaced tabloids and rumors that had been put to sleep by that time, but Jackson supported her, always by her side. It was an odd time for them and their friendship, constantly teetering between not wanting to look at each other, to needing to group call at three in the morning to remind each other how much they loved each other.

Amber had also taken a year off from any public games, and received a very mixed greeting at the last Olympics. Especially after Jackson sat out. 

“I’m in a happy relationship with a woman, and Jackson, Victoria and I have always been friends.” Amber says with a smile, hands folded in her lap. “Just friends.” The reporter keeps that damn smile of hers, but the cameraman cuts the scene.

“Wrap it up!”

Yixing is standing off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, chewing on a fingernail, looking the most upset Jackson’s seen in a long time. He’ll have nightmares of Yixing’s scowl and the reporters plastic smile.

She turns to the two fencers, “Are you ready for your last few matches?”

**\------------------------------------------------**

It’s impossible to sleep on a plane. Amber holds his hand until they’re sweating grossly between their entwined fingers. Jackson folds into her side for a few hours and they share earphones to watch an in-flight movie with an actor his parents loved when he was a child. But the engine hums are too loud and they can’t hear a word, watching stoically without sleeping a wink. It’s a very long flight from Shanghai to LA. Longer than usual.

Jackson closes his eyes at one point but they burn instead of feel better. He hands his trophy over to his parents. His father takes it but won’t even look at it, instead opting to stare at his son. Maybe he senses something is off. He probably saw the interview. Maybe he’s thinking of the drag queens and the fact that his son attended a show, with a face full of makeup.

It’s been six weeks, and Jackson’s bones are like lead. The trophy doesn’t feel well-deserved, no matter how much of his soul is glossed against the gold.

Upstairs, the hallway is lined with Olympic Fencer Jackson Wang. There are various memorabilia, photos of his matches, clippings of magazines in various languages, printed interviews, trophies and medals, and he stares in front of his years and years of dedication, exhaustion and blood and sweat. Just stares at it. His head spins and all these years come together, all at once, his phone buzzing and his mother’s voice carrying up the stairs, and he slumps to the floor, breathing in, breathing in deeper, and having a hard time breathing out.

**\------------------------------------------------**

“How long have you known?”

The laundry room in Jackson’s house is larger than necessary, but being confronted with such a heavy question in a windowless space makes it feel as though the roof comes down and the walls cave in. He’s breathing in dust and shame. Even though he’s already been through the rollercoaster of self-discovery and self-love, Jackson feels like he’s been dropped back into square one. His mother looks at him with wide eyes filled with misunderstanding and disbelief. It’s nothing like how Yixing looked at him with support, and this makes Jackson’s stomach knot. This moment has been a long-time coming.

“Since I was fifteen.”

Sophia takes in a small breath and stills. Jackson has no idea what she’s thinking. 

She says, “Oh,” and leaves him in the room.

Leaves him in the room alone, with the sound of the dryer humming through his bones.

**\------------------------------------------------**

Amber picks up on the third call. “Dude, I’m driving. I’ll call you when I get- ”

Jackson doesn’t even try to stop a sob. “Can you drive to my place?”

Twenty minutes later, Amber’s Jeep rolls into the driveway. She carelessly pulls up to the front steps, leaving the car running and the door open as she barrels out, meeting Jackson on the front steps. He crashes into her arms and inhales the sweet scent of her perfume. He appreciates that she smells like anything but the gym.

Up until now, Jackson had been crying, searching his name and scrolling through Twitter until Amber showed up. All he could do was cry, confused and torn between the love and support that shifted between various rumors surrounding his name. The photos of him with the drag queens reposted again and again and again.

He only opens his mouth and tells Amber about how his mother questioned the new rumor without any specifics only after they’ve driven off. Amber drives him back to her place; a small apartment overlooking the boardwalk. 

With the lights dim and the A/C blasting, Jackson lies face-down in Amber’s leather couch. “Am I gay enough yet?”

Her whole expression falls. “You know this is not what I meant…”

Jackson spends the night at Amber’s, the two of them passing out around 2am, watching Parks and Rec reruns, acting as if they’re still teenagers again, unbothered by the world and fame and societal pressures.

Jackson’s parents don’t call asking when he’s coming home.

**\------------------------------------------------**

**Mark**  
[July 20]

How’s practice going?  
> 11:06a

Weird.  
11:48a <

Is everything okay?  
You’ve been kind of MIA from the group chat  
> 12:00p

I owe you a thoustand apologies.  
a million  
12:14p <

For what?  
> 12:34p

I’m sorry.  
I’m so soorry  
the last time we hung out i had so much fun and i was so d r u n k and i’m sorry. i’m sorry that’s how i left yuo  
12:55p <

you mean more to me than that  
12:56p <

so much more  
12:57p <

Where is this coming from?  
Wait.  
> 1:06p

what am i waiting for  
1:14p <

is this a conversation we should be having over text? I haven’t seen you in over a month.  
> 1:16p

im getting this off my chest  
and i know you’re at work im so sorry  
1:17p <

Please stop apologizing  
> 1:18p

i’ve been so scare d to come out but now i’m basically out and i’ve been back for a week and the first conversation i had with my mom  
1:19p <

she basically confronted me and i’ve been at ambers place ever since  
i’m a mess  
1:20p <

She hasn’t reached out??  
Shit  
Is there anything I can do?  
> 1:22p

not rn  
1:25p <

Will you come by after work? I get out at 4  
> 1:30p

i don’t want you to feel bad or pressured or anything i just  
i woed you an explanation  
1:33p <

Jackson, you’re my friend. Just come over  
> 1:36p

okay  
2:07p <

**\------------------------------------------------**

Seeing Youngjae’s bright smile lifts Jackson’s spirits. He gives Youngjae a tight hug and swings by Bambam and Yugyeom’s room with a wave. Bambam’s recording for his channel, and spans the camera over for a quick cameo from the fencer, yelling about his victory in the games in China, and then turns back to his camera.

Mark’s fixing the bed sheets when Jackson walks into the room. His face is bare, freshly cleaned of make-up and work stress, and his arms are open wide. Jackson crashes into his arms and wraps his arms around Mark’s middle. Mark doesn’t complain that he’s being crushed.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t say that.” Mark treads his hands through Jackson’s hair. “C’mon,” He pulls away and reaches for Jackson’s shirt. Jackson feels weird as his shirt is pulled off.

“What’s going on?”

“Let’s take a nap.” Mark reaches for the string of Jackson’s sweatpants. “Just so you know, these track pants are a blessing.” He winks and Jackson can’t help the bubble of laughter that falls out of him. 

They strip down to their boxers, and Mark rolls his eyes away from the Adidas underwear Jackson wears. They’re tight and bright blue and Mark’s whining, “I want to be crushed by your thighs. These aren’t making it any better.” He grabs the waistband and tugs, letting it snap back to Jackson’s skin. Jackson puts on the theatrics and flops to the floor like it’d actually hurt.

Mark pulls him into bed, laughing, all high and vibrant, like he’s really happy that Jackson’s here. And Jackson can’t help it when he wraps his arms around the small waist at his side, pulling Mark close just to feel him, head-to-toe. Mark cups Jackson’s face with both hands, the two of them sinking into the sheets and pillows.

“We can talk about it later.”

Jackson reaches up to push blond bangs from Mark’s face. He traces the side of Mark’s face, from his eyebrows down the slope of his cheekbones, to the drop of his jawline. Mark’s so beautiful. And Jackson takes the moment to soak it in, in the way the sunlight comes in filtered by pink curtains, making Mark’s skin rosy and his lips look softer.

“It makes me nervous when you look at me like that.”

Jackson trails the shape of Mark’s lips with his eyes, then looks back up to meet the gaze staring back at him.

“Like what?”

“Just…” Mark’s blushing all the way down his neck. “Like _that_.”

“I really missed you.” Jackson confesses, feeling like he’s ripping his chest open to show his heart. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. But I don’t know what to do with… everything. That’s going on. And I don’t want to drag you down...”

Jackson’s been away; has been in opposite ends of two different countries in the past month, has been bombarded by fans, has had cameras pointed in his face and reporters trying their luck with thinly-veiled homophobic comments throughout interviews. He feels like his soul has been left behind somewhere, and he doesn’t know where to go or where to find it. He’s tired to his bones; feels it in the marrow, and has nightmares of the way his mother left him alone in the laundry room after he came out. He’s slept the past week at Amber’s, and has spent more time on the couch this past week than he has the past year, but he’s still exhausted. He’s still lost in his hometown, searching for something he’s misplaced in obvious places.

Kissing Mark feels like coming home. Holding Mark against him, feeling the warmth of his body is all the comfort Jackson’s been looking for. He pulls Mark close, wraps him up with his strong arms and lets himself fall right into it. 

It’s calming. 

Mark runs a hand through his hair and he feels it down his spine. Mark nibbles on his lip and his chest loosens. Jackson breathes in, covers the small of Mark’s back with his palm, and fades off into the comfort of here; where Mark is, in the dusk of a Sunday, where here, Jackson is himself, accepted and adored by a beautiful blond boy he’s ready to risk it all for.

When they pull away to breathe, Mark looks dazed, his lips pretty and pink. He runs his fingers down the muscle of Jackson’s bicep.

Somewhere in his eyes, Jackson finds a part of himself. He feels here; wholly in the moment and in Mark’s arms.

Mark settles against his chest, and Jackson closes his eyes. Breathing in, deeply, filling himself to the brim with oxygen, and then releasing a steady breath, feeling lighter and lighter until he falls asleep.

**\------------------------------------------------**

Jackson wakes up feeling like he’s been slapped, his body jumping, all his senses waking up at once. He blinks at the ceiling, confused, his toes curling.

Blearily, he looks down, blinking at Mark whose head is between his legs.

“Did you rest well?” Mark asks with the smirk of the devil on his face, his hands spread out over Jackson’s thighs.

“Yeah… What are you doing?”

Mark leans down, keeping their gazes locked, and presses his mouth to the outline of Jackson’s cock through his underwear.

“You look so good. I couldn’t help myself.” He presses a kiss to the underside, his breath warm through the fabric. “Can I take these off?”

Jackson nods so fucking fast and raises his hips so they come off easier, and Mark opens his mouth to lick at the head of Jackson’s half-hard erection. Jackson watches, dazed, body reeling because he’d been asleep only seconds ago, and finally makes a small _oh_ noise. Mark chuckles, and leans back in to lick again at the head of Jackson’s cock. He hums as he’s enjoying it, and closes his eyes. And Jackson watches, hands reaching out to grip Mark’s platinum hair, as Mark puts on a show. He runs his tongue along the length, lathers Jackson up with saliva, and Jackson keens. He’s panting, feeling the wetness and warmth, aroused by the way Mark laps at him like he’s got nothing else to do all day.

Jackson lets himself be led through it, lets Mark suck on him until his toes curls, and winds down when Mark slows, kissing along his thighs instead, licking at the swell of muscle. Jackson holds his breath, rolling his hips, chasing Mark’s mouth as Mark continues to play leisurely with his orgasm.

“Please…”

“Please, what?”

“Baby,” Jackson chokes on the word, and Mark sucks on him a little harder. “Please… let me cum.”

Mark works him up, uses his hand and his whole mouth, bobbing faster, sucking harder, not pulling off as Jackson tugs on his hair in warning. And Jackson finishes in his mouth, down Mark’s throat, and groans, feeling his bones settle.

He sits up and blinks at Mark, blushing. “Oh, you swallow.”

Mark just laughs at that, wiping up the corners of his lips. Mark ducks forward and kisses his cheek. “I love when you call me baby. I never thought I’d like something like that.”

“Was it okay?”

“Yeah.” Mark grins and pulls him off the bed. “Yeah, I loved it. C’mon let’s grab dinner.”

“Wait, but, what about you?” 

“Don’t worry about me.” Mark winks, throwing Jackson his clothes. 

 

Down the hall in the living room, Youngjae, Jaebum and Jinyoung are piled on each other, watching a movie. Jaebum is lying on the couch with Jinyoung in his lap, and Youngjae in Jinyoung’s lap. Jinyoung and Youngjae are entranced by the animated movie, while Jaebum has his head back, mouth open, deep in sleep. He looks like a totally different person. 

Jackson sits on the end of the couch and Youngjae grins at him, throwing his legs over Jackson’s lap. 

Youngjae hums along to Moana’s song as she faces Tefiti, tapping his foot against Jackson’s stomach. He gets a tight hug from Jinyoung, who cuddles into his neck. “How many times have you seen this movie?”

“Uh, I made Mark watch it and then I watched it with Yugyeom and I watched it with my mom and dad last weekend and now -” Youngjae laughs as Jinyoung blows a raspberry in his neck. Jaebum continues to sleep on, oblivious to the cuteness in his lap.

While Mark warms up leftovers for them, Jackson can’t help but watch, from the corner of his eye, how the other three boys lounge together on the couch. He’s not used to seeing them together, and it’s heartwarming to see it. They’re three vastly different people in three very different places in their lives; Jinyoung is clean-cut; no piercings, no tattoos, has never dyed his hair. He wears button downs and trousers, even when he’s not in business attire. He works for a financial institution, flourishing in the workforce with his business degree. Jaebum is a college drop-out working at a bar. He likes to show off his tattoos and piercings with short sleeves and shaved sides, his hair always dark and pushed back. And Youngjae is somewhere in the middle; still working on his degree, still working on his personal style, working part-time in retail so he can support his own weight. But despite all these differences they’ve found similarities in each other’s personalities, and wholly love and trust each other. The way they treat each other so adoringly makes Jackson believe in true love.

The movie wraps up not too long after, the end of the movie making Jackson want to watch it from the beginning, just as Mark and Jackson finish their dinners. Youngjae gets up to bring Coco outside and Jinyoung stays behind to shake their boyfriend awake. Jaebum is confused and refuses to get up off the couch. 

“Youngjae and I are going to bed. We both have to be up before six.” Jinyoung says, taking the scattered dirty dishes from the living room. “Are you staying up?”

“For a little bit.” Jaebum stretches, and Jackson can hear the way his spine pops. 

“Okay, see you in the morning.” Jinyoung leans over the couch to kiss Jaebum, long and sweet. Jackson almost feels like he’s interrupting a personal moment. Mark doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by it, not even when Youngjae comes back in a few minutes later. He also says good-night, and the kiss he gives Jaebum is quick and playful.

Feeling coy and shy, Jackson mumbles, “Where’s _my_ kiss?”

Being on the same couch, all Jaebum has to do is lean over and he’s in Jackson’s personal space. Which is exactly what he does. He sits up, leans over, and plants a kiss on the side of Jackson’s head.

His whole soul exits his body.

Oh no. Jaebum is _cute._

And Jaebum just laughs a Jackson’s shocked expression, and laughs even harder when Jackson whispers, “Was that allowed?”

Even Mark laughs at that. Jackson’s glad to know that they can be casual like this with each other. He really treasures this group of weirdos.

But then, out of nowhere, something clicks into place, and Jackson is craning to look at the time. It’s half-past ten. “Wait. How long did I sleep for?”

“Like,” Mark shrugs, “Like, almost five hours.”

“That’s not a nap.”

“I tried to wake you up after two hours but you were dead.”

“Dead.” Jaebum reiterates, sprawling out now that he has more room. “Jinyoungie went in to make sure you were still breathing.”

Mark leans against Jackson, intimate and sweet, and links their elbows. His hand rests near Mark’s. He’s so close. They could hold hands. Jackson’s palms sweat. He’s not prepared for the next question;

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jaebum gets up and goes to wash the dishes in the kitchen, trying to give some sort of distance and privacy - or, the best he can do in a small apartment full of seven boys. Mark takes Jackson’s hand and leads him out to the porch. 

“I’m sorry.” Jackson can’t get comfortable in the chair, uncomfortable in the July heat. He’s sweating all over, now. “I’m sorry I ignored you and I’m sorry -”

“I’m not looking for an apology.” Jackson appreciates how steady Mark’s tone is. Comforting. “I don’t want an apology. I’m not mad. I just… I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He looks up, trapping Jackson with his gaze. “I mean we’re friends, right?” The word sounds weird.

Right. Friends. Because they’re not boyfriends. Even though there are so many aspects to their relationship that bound over the line of ‘just friends.’ Thinking about it makes Jackson’s heart race. He doesn’t want to be ‘just friends.’ He hasn’t, not for a long time, but Mark has already made his stance clear. He’s already said he doesn’t want to be dragged along until Jackson finds the courage to publicly come out. He doesn’t want to be in the shadows. He wonders if Mark’s maybe waiting for him.

No. Jackson shakes that thought away. He, himself, can’t deal with this now. Not while Jackson’s in the middle of the mess of his mom, and having to come out publicly. There’s already so much else happening and he can’t handle the new responsibilities that would come with a relationship. 

But then why isn’t Mark out there, finding someone else, instead of hanging on to Jackson?

 _Friends._ Because that’s what friends do.

As much as he wants to admit it, Jackson doesn’t give himself the satisfaction and relief to think that maybe, Mark wants more out of this, too. Maybe, Mark’s fallen for him, too.

Friends don’t bring you to their house to make out, and then nap half naked and then wake you up with blow jobs.

His relationship with Luhan is a best friends with benefits type of deal, and even with Luhan, there are things that Jackson and Mark do that don’t at all resemble the friendship Jackson has with Luhan - because there, there are no romantic feelings involved. There are no afternoon cuddles and naps, no random blow jobs, no making out. It’s just occasional sex, and done. Back to being friends.

What the fuck.

Mark reaches over and takes Jackson’s hand in his. He slides his thin fingers between Jackson’s. It’s an easy fit. Then he just waits. He allows Jackson to collect his thoughts, lets him have the time to stare blankly out over the railing, towards the small park across the street. Mark is patient, doesn’t push it, and still, Jackson knows that if he doesn’t want to share, he won’t be forced to.

In the end though, he does. He lets his thoughts fall out as scattered as they are; how despondent and abandoned he feels by his parents, how terrified all the comments online make him, and how he doesn’t know what to do. His parents have always been tough and distant while still caring and doting for him. They watch his diet and expect a lot from him, but they spoil him, too. They were supportive in high school when his grades started to fail, they bought him his first car, and supported him so he could devote his life to fencing without having to be worried about finances. There’s always been fine print, though.

“I want to do this.” Jackson’s surprised by his own words. “I _want_ to fence.”

This has always been him. He’s done this since he was young. It was the only thing his parents have pushed, practically fed it down his throat, so he doesn’t know much else. But he’s good at this. He’s _good_ at fencing. He likes to train and travel and get to know celebrities. He likes the rush of being on the mat. He’s just never said it outloud before. 

Everything just sort of closes up after that. Jackson feels drained. Less heavy, though.

Mark reaches back over since Jackson had pulled away mid-through his rant, to pull their hands together again.

“Why?”

Oh.

“Uh.”

“Why do you want to fence when you hate it so much?”

Again, there’s silence. Jackson’s mind is whirling, and his chest heaves like he’s running with it. “Because I like fencing. I like everything that comes with it; the traveling, meeting famous people, I love when people notice me, I love being on TV… ”

Mark smiles at that.

“I like training. I like doing something that I’m good at I just… I just…” He grips Mark’s hand a little tighter. “I just don’t. I don’t like that I don’t have a say anything.”

That’s it.

That’s where all this frustration comes from.

“I don’t even have a say in how I come out - and I think it’s stupid that there’s any discussion about it, anyway. I’m Jackson Wang. A Fencer. Why does being gay make that any different?”

“You don’t have to turn it into a show. Just keep being honest with yourself.” Mark trails his fingers up Jackson’s arm.

“I don’t… I don’t know what I’m supposed to be honest with myself _about_.”

Mark shrugs. “I can’t tell you that. But it sounds like you need to remind yourself that you really want to do this.”

Not much has been said, but Jackson gets it.

“How did your parents react? If it’s okay that I ask...”

“It was fine. They took it really well. I’m lucky.” Mark stares off over the park. He shrugs. Jackson bites his tongue, telling himself that if Mark doesn’t want to share, then the issue shouldn’t be pushed. 

And then, just to make himself suffer more, Jackson mumbles, “Can I ask why you’re here with me? And not out on, like, a date? Or something.”

What if Mark says he likes him? Wants to be with him? Wants -

“Jacks, why do you think you annoy me? We’re friends, and I want you to know you can lean on me. Even if I’m not good with being, uh, sentimental? I care about you.”

Oh.

Okay.

Jackson just wants to go home.

“Besides, I’m happy with all the people in my life right now. It’s… nice.” He says it sincerely, and shines a bright smile in Jackson’s direction. But the pause between his words and ‘nice’ seems like such a passive feeling. 

“Just nice?”

“My only friends are the dumbasses that live here.” Mark gestures back towards the apartment, and Jackson smiles a little at that. Even though his heart hurts. “So I like you, and Amber, and Sunyoung and Victoria. I’m really happy I met you guys.” And then, softly, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Jackson puts on his biggest smile, gives Mark hugs and tells him he values him, but maybe he should go home.

Of course Mark insists he should stay, but drops the argument when Jackson makes up the excuse that all his clothes are at home. He has a change of sweats in the bottom drawer of Mark’s dresser. He could stay.

But he wants to go home and eat his feelings and cry into his own pillow, without being next to the man he so desperately wants to be with.

**\------------------------------------------------**

On Sunday he goes to church, just like he would any other Sunday, and spots his parents sitting in one of the front pews. So he sits in the way back with Mrs. Georgina, a sweet old woman he always helps walk out to her car after mass.

The sermon is about forgiveness and love. Jackson blocks it out and stands when he needs to, or kneels when prompted, or holds the Bible for Mrs. Georgina. He stares at the beautiful stain glass of an angel hovering behind the altar, and prays quietly to himself. Afterwards, he helps her out to her car. She smiles at him, bright pink lipstick smudged on the corner of her wrinkly mouth.

“You’re such a good boy. Your parents are so lucky to have you.” She says in a scraggly voice, putting a bony hand on his elbow. Jackson wonders if she’d still hold the same sentiment if she knew more about him. His confidence deflates. He really likes her. He sees some of his own grandmother in her playful antics. She unlocks her car and opens the back door. “I have something for you.”

He knows what it is without even having to look. They’re cookies, a variety of hand baked goods that she brings for the church once a month, and saves some on the side for Jackson. He wants to share them with Mark.

Jackson thanks her a thousand times and waves as she drives off. When he turns around his father is standing right there, so close to him, and Jackson’s heart nearly leaps out of his throat. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah,” Jackson croaks. “Here?”

“No, let’s go get lunch.” He’s given a restaurant, and Jackson meet them there.

Sophia is tense the whole time. She’s stiff as she walks from the car to the front doors, she doesn’t respond when asked if they need a table for three. Ricky does all the talking, and Jackson follows in tow, ready for whatever’s about to happen. He doesn’t know where this bravery comes from. 

They order water and tea, and Sophia hides behind the menu. Jackson picks the first thing off the lunch menu, some sort of wrap, and puts the menu down. They’re here. There’s no point in avoiding it now.

“What do you want me to say?”

Sophia peers over her menu. Ricky looks uncomfortable. So Jackson leans over, keeping his voice low, because this isn’t anyone else’s business, and because this is the best way for him to hold his voice steadily, “I’m gay. And I’ve known for a long, long time.”

The waiter comes, senses the calamity, takes their orders, and dips.

Sophia speaks first, looking scared now that she doesn’t have a menu to hide behind. “I love you, Jackson.”

There’s no ‘but’ that follows. Jackson tries to control the overflow of emotion. He chokes up and his chest tightens. Ricky reaches over to put a hand on his wrist, and looks visibly torn for a moment.

“I love you, too.”

He’s never, not in Jackson’s twenty-four years of life, said those words. Not to anyone. Jackson’s never even heard those words uttered to his mom. For Ricky to set his pride aside and embrace what’s best and most supportive for his son, sends Jackson into quite the spiral. This is the best outcome he could’ve imagined.

Relief and acceptance drowns him, and Jackson doesn’t know what to do.

“I love you guys… too…”

“We’re sorry. We’ve been… trying to figure this out. I’m sorry we didn’t see it sooner, or that you thought you had to hide this whole time. You must’ve been so scared and lost for the past nine years… That’s such a huge part of your life I can’t believe I missed. You’ve always been the best son. And this wouldn’t change that.” Sophia is much better with words than her husband is. “I’m just scared about the public, and how this is going to affect you. Amber had such a hard time when she came out… We were frightened for her safety.”

Ricky nods quickly, grateful that his wife covers it and he doesn’t have to.

“And we’re sorry we’ve been pushing you.”

The food comes then, pancakes and bacon going around the table. Jackson takes a refill on his coffee, and the server leaves again with a tight smile.

“Yixing spoke with us.” Ricky says, not touching his food yet. “We didn’t realize how harsh we’d been with you. We didn’t realize how exhausted you were. You’ve always just endured it.”

Jackson grips his knees under the table, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I feel like I’m on a chain.”

“We want what’s best for you…”

“It was your decision for me to sit out the last Olympics. Not mine.”

The silence feels like static. 

Sophia picks up her fork and knife, and says, “I want you to be open with us. Please, let’s discuss this over breakfast.” She looks at her son and motions for him to eat. “So please, tell us what you want.”

Jackson breathes in. Fills his lungs. And lets it all come tumbling out.

**\------------------------------------------------**

The gang heads out to another drag show. Yugyeom is rushing around the apartment trying to gather some last minute things for Bambam, who’s having a hard time with his wig. It’s bright red and Jackson doesn’t understand how someone can pull off every hair color so flawlessly.

“I have to leave!” Jaebum shouts from the doorway, checking the time on his phone for the nth time. “I have to be there in ten minutes!” It’s more than a ten minute drive. He’s going to be late for work.

“It’s fine, I’ll be D.D.” Jackson ushers him out. Jaebum shoots him a grateful look and reaches out to squeeze his hand.

“You’re a lifesaver.”

Jackson finds Mark in his room, sitting at his desk with make-up products scattered about, forehead flat against the table.

“Uhh, are you okay?”

Mark whips his head up, one eye done and pretty, glittering purple, and the other eye is bare. “I keep fucking up my eyeliner.” He sounds so defeated that Jackson can’t help but laugh at him, and rushes away when Mark’s gaze turns murderous, to find someone to help. Bambam’s busy, so Yugyeom comes to the rescue. He’s learned a tip or two by being boyfriends with a make-up guru.

Back in the hall, Jackson’s nearly flattened by Youngjae, who’s running around trying to find his phone charger. Jinyoung is behind him in a second, looking beyond frustrated while he dangles a chord in the air. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“The blue one charges my phone real fast!” Youngjae yells from the bedroom.

“If you’d just plugged your phone in when you got _home_ ,” Jinyoung lectures, Jackson tries to become one with the wall as Youngjae scurries by again. “We wouldn’t be having this problem.”

“But I wanted to play -”

“I don’t want to hear it. You should’ve plugged it in. Where’s your phone?” Jinyoung storms down the hall again and Youngjae rounds the corner from the living room, looking pissed. It’s such a foreign look on his face that Jackson ducks into the bathroom to hide, terrified.

“If you just helped me _look_ instead of _yelling_ -”

Bambam closes the bathroom door, rolling his eyes. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Everytime we all try to go out together this place turns into a fuckin’ mad house. How’s my face? Are my eyebrows even?” He spins around, wig in place, face plastered on, hoop earrings dangling. Jackson studiously studies his eyebrows.

“No, they look perfect.”

Bambam always carries himself with such poise, such grace, but when he’s in drag he’s elegant. He swings his hips with purpose and his hand movements become exaggerated, showing off his jewelry and rings. He spins around again to check himself out in the mirror. He’s in a sparkly sequined dress with a large collar. 

“Help me pick out shoes.”

Jackson blocks out the sound of 2Young arguing, and slides into Bambam’s room. He’s shown a few pairs of pumps, a pair of thigh highs, and Jackson points to those.

Then he points to the huge rainbow flag hanging on the wall besides Bambam and Yugyeom’s bed.

“Can you take a photo of me in front of that?”

Bambam grins. “Yes, girl. I got’chu. Sit on the bed.” He takes a few photos with his IPhone, tells Jackson how to pose, how to angle so the light catches his highlight, and fluffs up his hair. “I’ll send these to you. You look adorable.”

 

Bambam plays with the photos while Jackson drives them to the bar. He does some light edits with a photo app, and sends them all. He hovers back while the rest go in, helping Jackson pick out the best one. It’s a photo of him sitting cross-legged on the bed, his loose shirt caught off his shoulder, his face glowing and smooth and highlight glimmering, with his eyes closed and one hand by his head, holding up a peace sign. He looks so cute with the rainbow flag in the background, his make-up done by a pro. He looks gay, in both the stereotypical way and the happy way.

Jackson opens up a new post and stares at the photo. “What should I caption it?”

Bambam takes the phone and types something quickly, doing it efficiently with his long, matte nails.

_I’m happy_

is all it says, with the rainbow hashtag #PRIDE right next to it.

“How’s that, babydoll?”

Jackson adds in a lipstick and camera emoji, tags Bambam, and hits post. There’s no going back now.

**\------------------------------------------------**

The night starts with shots of Fireball and everyone laughs while Jackson attempts to rip his own tongue out after. Jaebum leans over the bar to force a non-alcoholic drink down Jackson’s throat and then grins, calling him a weakling.

“I’ll show _you_ weakling.” Jackson orders another shot and struggles through it. 

Yugyeom pats Jackson’s shoulders. “Are you alright?”

He’s not. But he won’t admit it. And according to the bartender, Jackson’s met his quota for the night. Jaebum says it’s because he’s a ‘lightweight’ and promised to be designated driver and really, Jackson can’t argue with that. He orders a seltzer as everyone gets drinks, and smiles a little as Jaebum leans over the counter to sneak a kiss from each of his boyfriends. Someone hoots across the bar, and Youngjae grabs Jinyoung by the collar and yanks him in for a kiss.

The patrons raise their glasses and cheer, and someone says that the bartender is the luckiest guy in the world.

The look Jaebum gives both his boyfriends before turning to the rest of the bar is full of love. “I know I am!” 

The amount of acceptance in the bar fills Jackson’s heart. He knows things can get rough sometimes, even in a community like this, but there’s a bond he shares with these people, even if he doesn’t know them.

By the time Mark gets a drink and they make it out to the dance floor, Jinyoung’s got both arms wrapped around Youngjae’s middle, the two of them kissing and dancing. Whatever argument they had before is long forgotten.

Mark pulls Jackson somewhere in the middle, and they dance close for a while, swinging to the music and jumping to fast-paced choruses. Jackson wants a drink, knows he shouldn’t, and only takes a few sips of Mark’s. They finish a glass together and Mark swears off drinks for the rest of the night. 

They separate only when Mark has to use the bathroom, but Jackson isn’t left alone. Youngjae comes up behind him, wrapping two arms around his waist. They sway, laughing, and almost bumping into other people that are tightly packed on the dance floor.

“Where’s Bammie and Yugyeom?” Jackson arches back, yelling over the music. Youngjae gets closer because he can’t hear. His breathing fans out on Jackson’s neck. 

“Bammie! And! Yugyeom!”

Youngjae points to the floor to signal downstairs. “Mingling!” He shouts back.

Jackson spins around and takes Youngjae’s hand, swinging their links hands back and forth, jumping to the music. Youngjae throws his head back and laughs, falling forward towards Jackson. He’s the cutest thing on the planet. Jackson can see why he has two men that are madly in love with him.

Mark and Jinyoung come back with water, and they trade dance partners for a while. Jinyoung keeps one hand in Mark’s and Jackson knows that there’s no need to worry over them, even if they were to stray away. Jackson gets a little closer to Youngjae, it’s all just for fun, until Mark comes in swap dance partners.

Jinyoung gets close, very close. “Mark and I saw your Instagram post.” He says, voice steady through the pounding bass, him and Jackson swaying to the beat. “I hope you know that we’re all here for you.”

Jackson beams at him, and they get lost in the crowd until Mark and Youngjae come back. Mark comes between them, wraps two arms around Jackson and kisses him. Youngjae hoots and hollers while Jinyoung tries to hold him down.

For a second the blaring techno and pulsating lights fade off to a dull, far-off beat, and Jackson’s just happy holding Mark by his waist, kissing him in the middle of a sea of people, unashamed and happy. For the moment, he buries the little voice in the back of his head that says, _this is not what just friends do._

**\------------------------------------------------**

YugBam have a relationship that Jackson doesn’t get to see much, but Yugyeom typically seems to be the doting one while Bambam takes the reins on things. Yugyeom handles editing Bambam’s videos, manning the channel, usually makes dinner, usually initiates kisses and hugs and affection, usually goes out of his way to help the others when Bambam’s busy doing other things. Jackson wonders about it, sometimes, but is afraid to ask.

There’s a whole other side to their relationship that Jackson’s not sure he was ready to see.

There had been a mood all night; something tense and uncomfortable that had shifted to something undefinable the later it became, probably through the help of booze and the overall ambiance of a club, but Yugyeom doesn’t even wait until they’re in the apartment. Bambam’s makeup is off and he’s back in pants and a tee shirt, and he’s ahead of everyone else to unlock the front door of the apartment, when Yugyeom presses against his back and pushes him against the wood, right out in the hallway.

Youngjae laughs as if it’s funny. 

And Bambam bends, totally relinquishing control as Yugyeom covers his hand to guide the key to the lock, opening the door to the apartment. They stumble in, and the sound of Bambam’s whimpering cuts out. Jaebum shuts the door behind everyone, hoping to block out the noise as the couple doesn’t care for their audience. Belatedly, Jackson wonders if this is some weird power-play thing, and he gets chills. He feels embarrassed - not really for YugBam, just in general - as Yugyeom grips the back of Bambam’s hair and reels him in for an open mouthed kiss, pulling him close - _closer_ \- and Bambam arches, whining as he’s pushed through the living room backwards, Yugyeom guiding him with large hands.

There’s a thunk as they disappear around the corner, Yugyeom pushing Bambam against the wall, keeping him in place with his hands and hips.

Bambam pleads, softly and desperately, and Jackson doesn’t want to admit that he’s getting hard. He blocks out whatever dirty thing Yugyeom must be saying, and holds his breath until he hears the sound of their bedroom door closing; muffling the noises they make together.

Jinyoung flaps his hand in front of Jackson’s face. “And what are _you_ thinking?”

“They’re not very shy.” Jaebum announces from the fridge as Mark pulls glasses from the cupboard. “But they’re still pretty private about it so you don’t have to worry about seeing anything.”

“They’re into some shit I don’t wanna know about.” Mark says, taking the pitcher of water from Jaebum and pouring a glass for Jackson. None of them look bothered, and Jackson wonders why he’s the only one feeling worked up. He tries not to think of how Mark could control him like that; they’ve changed roles various times already, he knows that Mark likes being boxed in and caged down, but he also knows that Mark likes to tease. Mark likes to beg, but he’s not adverse to making Jackson lose his damn mind. There are lines they haven’t discussed yet.

“I didn’t think he would break like this.” Jinyoung makes sure to turn the spotlight on Jackson. Whose face burns. What the fuck is wrong with him.

Mark is at his side, guiding him so that they’re facing each other, so that Jackson’s twisted around and pushed up against the counter, completely invading Jackson’s space, breathing in the same air - right in front of Jinyoung, Jaebum and Youngjae. Jackson gasps as Mark presses their hips together, a finger still curled under his jaw, his eyes dark and pooled over.

“What are you thinking, hm?” Mark whispers, his other hand grazing up Jackson’s chest, hot through the fabric, his thumb pressing over his nipple. Jackson clenches his jaw, immobile, glancing over to their audience. All eyes on him.

Mark gets close, glides his hand from Jackson’s chin to the back of his head, his other hand running through his hair. 

Jackson’s not breathing right, glancing once more at the other three boys that are still huddled around the center counter, watching over their glasses.

“Did you like that?” Mark gets close, mirroring Jackson’s words from that one night that Jackson still thinks about and worries over far too often, their lips brushing, skin touching, and Jackson’s going to have a fucking _heart attack._

“I thought this would go the other way around.”

Mark pulls away and makes a face. The only reason Jackson doesn’t collapse is because he’s being held up by the counter and Mark. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Jaebum shrugs and sips his water, acting cool as his boyfriends giggle at his side. “Do you really think, for one second, that we couldn’t hear you that one night Jacks had you begging?”

Maybe, if he were more coherent, Jackson would try to argue that.

Also, this is the first time Jaebum has called Jackson by his nickname. It’s a new level in friendship. Plus, they all just witnessed Jackson get hard and ascend.

“There’s three of you, I don’t wanna hear about role reversals.” Mark stews unhappily. Jackson’s still lost somewhere between the clouds. He mutters goodnight as the three exit, and as soon as they’ve parted to the bathroom or the bedroom, Mark spins around, his eyes wide and voice wavering, “Fuck, I’m so sorry. Was that too much? Did I take it -”

Jackson’s lunging forward in a breath, crashing their lips together, grabbing Mark by the sides of his face to hold him in.

“No,” He breathes, as Mark grabs at his pants, leads him towards the wall by his belt loops. “No, that was fine.” 

Jackson pushes Mark up against the wall, unthinking, unable to form a logical thought. He traps Mark against the wall, pressing their bodies together, and he feels the way Mark shivers, biting at his mouth with a whine.

Jackson tumbles as Mark grabs his hand, leading him to the bedroom. He nearly lunges into Jackson’s arms, who grabs him eagerly and pulls his shirt off.

Mark whines, pushing Jackson on the bed. “Fucking _hell_ , I love this.” He runs his hands over Jackson’s abs. “I love this so fucking much. You have _no_ idea.” He bends over, knees spread on either side of Jackson’s, and leans over to lick at Jackson’s stomach. He drops his head back and pants, gripping blond hair, closing his eyes and groaning, letting Mark lick up his stomach, around his belly button and down his happy trail, down to where Jackson’s cock is straining in his jeans.

Mark grabs Jackson’s thighs by the handful, burying his face in Jackson’s groin. Jackson tugs on his hair, nerves sparking. Mark mouths at his thighs, applies pressure with his lips through the fabric of Jackson’s jeans and mixes saliva with pre-cum already staining the front. Jackson bucks his hips, whining, seeking more. He gasps when Mark bites into his thigh, and then licks where it stings to soothe the pain. He’ll be embarrassed to admit it later, but that’s a turn on, and he’s getting closer and closer. His toes curl and his back is arching and he’s pleading,

“Baby, please.”

Then Mark obliges by pulling down his pants and boxers, wasting no more time. He takes Jackson into his mouth, working the tip with purpose, his hand working the rest and Jackson slams a hand over his mouth to muffle his own noises when he finishes. Mark swallows, and plants kisses all over Jackson’s abs and pelvis while he patiently waits for Jackson to come back down.

Once he’s no longer spinning, Jackson pulls Mark up with a soft apology when he tugs too hard, and flips them over so he can get down between Mark’s legs. He pulls off Mark’s boxers, and wastes no time in wrapping his mouth around Mark’s cock. He’s not very good at it and he doesn’t typically have the patience, but Jackson takes his time. He tastes pre-cum and runs his tongue over the slit, listening to the way Mark’s moans dance from his lips. They’re low, and Jackson quite enjoys hearing it. 

“I’m gonna cum.”

One thing he definitely can’t do is swallow. But, he’ll try. He opens his eyes to see Mark’s propped up on one elbow, watching, one hand in Jackson’s hair. Their eyes meet, Mark’s are wide and dark, and once he’s leaning his head back and dropping back onto the sheets, Jackson know to prepare himself. He closes his eyes, relaxes his throat, but isn’t able to do it as cleanly as Mark. He sputters and makes a mess, fighting his gag reflex until Mark’s finished. 

“You didn’t have to…” Mark reaches out to catch some of the mess that dribbles down Jackson’s chin. His eyes flutter and his chest heaves as he breathes and Jackson is just as out of breath, licking the corners of his lips. He reaches up and catches what Mark’s fingers had missed, and licks his fingers clean. He feels prideful in the way Mark groans like he’s in pain. “You’re so hot. This is so hot. What the fuck.”

Jackson leans forward to kiss along Mark’s jawline, pushing him back against the mattress, taking his time. He finds a ticklish spot on Mark’s neck, under his ear, and teases with soft nibbles, enamored by the way Mark giggles and tries to slap him away. He laughs and gives in, flopping over to lie on his side.

“Do you want some water?”

“Yes, please.”

Mark comes back a few minutes later and cuddles into his side. Jackson wraps two arms around him and pulls him close, throwing a leg over his waist, wanting to be as close as possible. They cuddle close for a little while and Jackson allows himself to bask in this, to enjoy the sound of Mark’s soft laughter, and the steady rumble of his voice, and how they feel against one another. They kiss leisurely, even though it’s almost one in the morning. 

“So you finally got to talk to your parents?” Mark asks, breathing down Jackson’s neck. 

“Yeah, yesterday morning. Two mornings ago? What time is it?”

Mark laughs at that. “But, did things work out?”

They break apart for a little, finding each other’s gazes in the dim lighting. “I didn’t think they were going to accept me. But apparently my manager talked to them, and they listened. So we all got to talk. They aren’t upset because I’m gay, they just wish they knew before. For, like, damage control.”

“That’s a shitty way to put it.”

Jackson presses a kiss to Mark’s lips. “How did your parents…? I know I’ve asked this before, but.”

“You really care to know?”

The question throws Jackson off, and he laughs a little at that. “Why _wouldn’t_ I care about it?”

It’s sad how long Mark stays quiet for. Jackson can’t decipher why, though, _why_ Mark won’t share.

“I never really had to come out. I’ve always known and my parents have always known. And my oldest sister is lesbian.” He shrugs, wrapping his arms around Jackson. But Jackson wants more.

“Older sister? How many siblings do you have?”

“Two older sisters, a younger brother. Tammy and Grace are the sunflowers on my legs. The tulip is for my mom.”

That’s touching. Jackson can’t imagine how strong their bond must be if he has such large tattoos for his family. He’s giddy with this conversation, wanting to delve in deeper, but Mark’s angling up for more kisses, long and sweet. 

“I don’t want to talk about my sisters while I’m lying in bed naked.”

Okay, that’s fair. Jackson decides. They can continue this in the morning, over breakfast, and he’ll listen to Mark talk all day.

As they kiss they grow more hungry, both of them trying to reel it back in until Mark gives in, first. He pulls Jackson over him, moaning when Jackson cages him in, biceps on either side of his face.

“All this praise is gonna go to my head.” Jackson mumbles against his neck.

“Whatever. I don’t care. You have an amazing personality and an amazing body. Love yourself a little.”

Moments like these make Jackson want to ask to make this official. This isn’t just a friends with benefits set up like it was with Luhan. This is _more_. Jackson’s heart flutters as he meets Mark’s lips again.

“Are we really…” Mark grabs Jackson by the hair, tugging. “Going for a round two?”

“Kinda want you to fuck me, but we don’t have to do anything more if you don’t want to.” Jackson’s fully on top of him now, heat seeping through his chest.

Mark hums, leaning in for another kiss. “I want to. It’s been so long.”

“I’m sorry I was gone for like, two months.”

“I know.” Mark smiles against Jackson’s lips and there his heart goes, somersaulting again. Such a soft feeling, considering everything that’s happening right now. “I missed you, and it wasn’t just your dick I missed.”

“Hm, is this what you meant when you said you’re not sentimental? You can’t just say you missed _me?_ ”

The corners of Mark’s lips curve, happy and comfortable. “Not when I’ve been this long without sex.”

Jackson rips away at that, all fuzzy feelings _gone_. “You haven’t…?”

Mark looks like an angel, his skin smooth and glowing in the dim, blue light, fading into his hair. His eyes are wide and alert, lips softly parted, chest heaving. “What? No. Not since you and I started…”

It’s so, so mild at first. Mark’s mouth presses closed. His eyebrows furrow. It’s like he’s processing this information one step at a time while Jackson’s gut gets colder and colder and colder. His fingers get cold.

“Luhan.” Mark says with such a fire that’s so opposite to the heat they’d been sharing moments ago.

“Wait - I thought.”

“You fucked Luhan in New York, right? And in China? Fuck, Jinyoung told me I was being paranoid but I fuckin’ _knew_ it.”

Never in a million years did Jackson think this is how this night would go. He’s not in control of his body, pushing away as Mark’s hands command him to. He kneels, scared of the distance that’s being put between them.

“You said you were thinking of me and I thought - _fuck_.”

While his mind reels and he rushes to stand to grab at least his boxers so they don’t have to do this naked, all of the sweetness from before is being replaced by an emotion Jackson isn’t too familiar with. He spins around, catches the look of anger on Mark’s face, and knows that it’s mirrored on his own. He doesn’t recognize the feel of a scowl this deep on his own mouth.

“You’re not seriously getting upset over this are you? You made it crystal clear that you never wanted this to be anything more.”

“No. I didn’t. Because I was scared of getting involved with a closeted celebrity.”

“So now that I’m out, it’s fine?” Jackson yanks up his pants, stepping in close. “Now that’s it’s _easy_ for you, you want in?”

_Even though all the signs have pointed in another direction._

He’s driven himself crazy trying to distance himself from his feelings for Mark, suffering alone and in silence, doing what’s best for Mark, because he doesn’t want to impose. Mark’s happiness makes him happy. Even if that means not dating. Which is what he’s always thought was happening. 

The shadows cast over Mark’s cheekbones make his eyes appear more sullen. He has a blanket pulled around his waist and his knuckles strain from where he holds it tight.

“I gave you space because you wanted it, even if felt like you trying to pull me in.” Jackson spits, rage pricking down the veins in his neck. All those concerned texts; the kiss from earlier, on the dance floor, what do they mean, if not that he cares? “Because I knew it wouldn’t be fair to drag you down into all this shit.” He grabs his phone from the night stand and waves it, letting fury over take his bones. “I’ve been receiving _death_ threats.” Jackson’s not letting this one spin on him, not when he’s been trying his best all these months to remind himself; _just friends. Just friends. That’s what Mark wants. Respect his space and privacy._

Mark just stands there, expression set and brows pressed together. And Jackson cracks. He wants more emotion. It seems like he’s the one doing all the _feeling_ , and he can’t understand what’s happening.

He doesn’t know much about Mark. Doesn’t know much about his personal life. Doesn’t know where he comes from; where he went to high school, what his favorite color is, what TV shows he truly enjoys. Mark hasn’t opened up much in their time together. All he does is listen to Jackson spill out his heart. Now Jackson knows he has two sisters, from the flowers inked on his calves, and a mother he adores, but what of his father? The rest of his family? Mark has opinions on Jackson’s parents and knows they’ve pushed their dead aspirations onto their son - but _what about Mark_? What led him to his career? What led him here? Aside from being best friends with Jaebum when they decided to live together.

None of this makes sense. Jackson isn’t getting it and Mark isn’t talking. He’s always done his best to give Mark the privacy he’s wanted so what leg does he have to stand on and accuse Jackson of not caring for him, or cheating - or _whatever_ it is that’s happening - when Jackson feels like he’s been putting in all this effort? He’s been rung out and left in the sun to dry. He needs confirmation. He needs Mark to open his fuckin’ mouth and say something.

They can fix this. If Mark just opens up. If he just explains why he’s upset, if he just says it: _I like you, I want to be with you,_ then Jackson will stay and they can work this out. 

As the anger drains, as Jackson’s brain is firing, trying to keep up, trying to tell himself that Mark likes him, that they can just talk about this, he drops all his defenses, exhausted after that whirlwind of emotion, and pleads, 

“Just tell me what you want. Please, help me understand what’s happening.”

“You and I weren’t supposed to happen in the first place.” Mark says. It sounds a lot like _I told you so._ And Jackson remembers that text from when first confronted about his identity.

“I’m not - I’m not doing this right now. Everyone’s sleeping. I’m tired. I’m.” He reads defeat in Mark’s eyes. “I’m leaving. You’re dumb as shit if you don’t think I care about you.” He grabs his tee shirt from the floor, leaving behind socks and a tee shirt and other miscellaneous items he’s dropped off, but never bothered to bring home because there’s spot for it somewhere in Mark’s room.

**\------------------------------------------------**

Sophia comes in around noon, slowly entering Jackson’s room while Ricky stares from the doorway, using the door as a shield.

“Honey, are you alright? You didn’t come to church.” She sits on the edge of her son’s bed, patting the hump of blankets where her son is curled up.

Jackson pulls the blankets off his head, breathing in fresh air for the first time all morning. He looks like shit, eyes red and puffy and a tissue stuffed up his nose from all the crying he’s done. Sophia gasps, reeling forward to cradle his head in her hands.

“What happened? What’s the matter? Does it hurt?”

Seeing his father come rushing over only to hover by the bed, uncertain, but clearly trying very hard to be reachable by his son, makes Jackson want to cry even more.

“Can I have some tea?”

“Of course.” Sophia scurries off, leaving father and son alone. Ricky doesn’t know what to do and sit on the foot of the bed, clicking on the television mounted on the wall to flick through the channels. He finds a channel playing Buffy and raises the volume.

They spend most of the early-afternoon watching re-runs. Jackson’s mother leans against the pillows with him and he leans against her shoulder, closing his eyes and listening to Buffy be cute and then fight her way out of trouble. Jackson wishes he could do that; just fight off all his demons with a wooden stick and then go home.

“Is it a boy?” Sophia asks after a little while.

Jackson sighs, opening his eyes to catch a glimpse of his father averting his gaze. “Yeah.”

 

Yixing comes over for dinner. He opens his arms and Jackson crashes into his chest, seeking comfort in his embrace. Yixing, the older brother he’s always wanted.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Yixing whispers, “But I’m getting flooded with magazine and agencies that want interviews with you.”

Jackson closes his eyes. “Schedule all the interviews you want.”

He’s going to have a lot of free time on his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall this group chat even had me confused at times 
> 
> some of you guys are saying that jackson's dumb but tbh they're both dumb. let me know what you think :) & i'm on twitter with the same u/n if anyone wants to chat!


	4. All for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anyone misses the tags: there is talk of emotional abuse

Amber looks murderous. “This whole thing is fucked up. He can’t get mad at you when you gave him exactly what he wanted. Fuck him. Fuck Mark.”

The Eiffel Tower looks beautiful in the background, tall and proud. Jackson just stares at it, his chest feeling empty when normally, the Eiffel Tower would excite him. Normally, all of France would excite him. He loves Paris. He loves the coffee shops, cobblestone walkways and how history packs itself into every little corner.

It’s been only a few days without word from Mark, and it’s been just long enough that Jackson’s been able to seep in his ire, letting it fuel ugly emotions. He’s in another country now, here for a tournament with friends and family. The first stop he and Amber made when they arrived was a pastry shop only a few blocks from the hotel. Even with exhaustion sitting in his bones, he and Amber had both wanted good, bold coffee they couldn’t find in America, with pastries made fresh.

Jackson turns his phone on, and it buzzes to life once it connects to Wi-Fi. Amber watches curiously while Jackson rushes to silence it.

The group chat with their group of friends is active. Amber’s muted it since Jackson told her what happened on their trip to LAX. Jackson hasn’t responded in it in days. Mark has, but only rarely.

“I don’t think he’s told the guys what went down, though.” Jackson scrolls through over a hundred messages, the most recent ones being Bambam and Victoria comparing favorite foundations. Sunyoung is in there, too, mostly because Amber hasn’t had the chance to fill her in.

“Yeah, because he fucked up.” Amber reiterates, tone still stiff. “I’m so pissed. I’m _so_ fuckin’ pissed. Even I liked him. I was rooting for you guys. How is he going to ask you for space, and make it abundantly clear that he’s not looking for a serious relationship, and then throw you out when he finds out you slept with Luhan? He never set boundaries, never said he wanted to set them, yet here he is assuming you’ll follow them.”

Jackson watches the messages flood in the group chat.

“If he’s not going to talk, then let him go. Don’t fight for someone who’s not going to fight for you.” Amber’s tone is soft now, so soft that Jackson looks up at her.

“Do you think Mark and I would’ve made a good couple?”

Amber’s expression shifts again. She reaches out and grips Jackson’s hand. Her tone is strained again. “Yeah.”

He’s not sure what he was trying to find with that question, so Jackson leans back, lets his fall over the back of the chair, and closes his eyes.

“I fell for him.”

“I know you did.”

The sun soaks into his skin.

“And I thought he fell for you, too.”

There’s no rush to go anywhere.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

The games are long. The commentators mention how Jackson Wang is “back with a vengeance” while he crashes his way through the competitions. He beats Malaysia even though all the odds had been stacked against him.

Luhan makes it to France a few days after Jackson and Amber, and the three meet up after Jackson’s game inside the stadium. He’s still in gear, hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, hands stiff around the handle of his saber.

“I _so_ don’t want to play against you.” Luhan comes in for a hug and Jackson wraps both arms around him to give him a good squeeze. “How come you’re suddenly a beast?”

“I was always good.” Jackson makes a face.

“Uh, not _that_ good.” Luhan points to the screen replaying the vicious attack that won U.S.A the game.

Amber throws an arm over his shoulder. “He got into a fight with Mark. It’s a long story. Let’s all go do something stupid.”

‘Something stupid’ consists of them wondering around Paris until they find a beauty shop and Luhan says, “You’d look hot as a blond.” And they all end up in Jackson’s hotel room with his head over the tub, Amber and Luhan on YouTube trying to figure out how to bleach the shit out of Jackson’s hair without it all falling out.

Jackson buries his face in his hands. “This is a bad idea.”

Amber pulls off her gloves with a very scary noise. “No way. You’re gonna look hot as fuck.”

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

“It’s fried.”

Luhan runs his hands through Jackson’s freshly dyed and washed hair. “It’s fried.” He confirms.

But it sure as hell doesn’t look bad. When he went brunet, he needed time to adjust to the subtle difference. But now he’s blond, which is a striking difference to anything he’s ever done, or even considered doing, and he likes it. Almost immediately. It suits him, and brings out the undertones of his skin very nicely.

Amber works on styling it, and Luhan snaps a photo of them; three fencers with different shades of blond hair, and Jackson steals it to post online. He captions it; _blond copains_. He’s not even sure if it’s correct French.

It’s the first post since his coming out one a week ago. He still has to deal with that.

Bambam is in his inbox in seconds

SDFGHJAFYEIBKFNCLA  
B I T CH!!!!  
WHY DIDNT YOU LET ME DO THE HONORS????  
>b_bammie

 

 

Do you really like it?  
jacks_wang <

YAAAAAAAS  
Does mark know you planned on doing this???? We love 2 blond bois  
> b_bammie

Jackson leaves him on read.

 

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

Yixing is so close, too close, too in Jackson’s face. He’s still dizzy from the match, not even off the mat yet and his manager is grabbing him and pulling him aside.

“There’s a reporter. She’s been harassing me about your Instagram post. We have to go.”

 

They spend that night in, Jackson, Yixing, Amber, and her manager, to discuss how Jackson’s going to handle interviews now that he’s out. He knows this is supposed to help. But it doesn’t. Instead of feeling freed he feels bogged down, tied and restrained. He can’t even have this. He can’t even have his own coming out on his own terms. It’s on the public terms. And what’s safest. And whether or not he should apologize.

 

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

Jackson misses Mark. Misses him until there’s a gaping pain in his chest. Only a week ago he’d been in Mark’s room, sharing kisses and body heat and letting his guard drop. He made himself small, fitting into the crevices of Mark Tuan, oh-so comfortably and trustingly. But today he’s on his last day in Paris, staring at the sky and wondering if it’s just as cloudy over Mark’s head. Or if they’re looking at the same moon. Or if Mark’s even thought about him. Because there’s Mark in everything Jackson does; when he sits to enjoy a coffee, he thinks of the time they spend on the beach, sipping iced drinks with the waves soothing the panic in Jackson’s gut. He thinks of Mark when he takes the time to rub moisturizer over his skin, and that time in the bathroom when they’d both been drunk, holding each other after sloppy sex, giggling and tasting mint on each other’s lips.

There was a time when Sunyoung tried to get time off to fly out to China to be with Amber for a tournament, and even though it’d fell through and she wasn’t able to make it, Jackson wondered what it’d be like to bring Mark with him.

Bambam posts a video that Jackson lies in bed to watch. He’s doing an unboxing video, fans had sent him and Yugyeom gifts for their third anniversary together, and Mark’s holding the camera. The shot pans to him when YugBam share an on-screen kiss, so Mark can make a face at the camera, and Jackson’s tears flood over like breaking a dam.

It’s kind of embarrassing when Luhan finds him, worried that all calls are going to voicemail, and slips into bed to hold him. Jackson doesn’t know how to answer his questions, this is the first time he’s felt so raw; so unsure of his decisions with Mark, with coming out, even going as far as regretting the moment he decided to step foot into West Wing.

“I’m gonna rip his throat out.” Luhan mumbles darkly. Somewhere in the middle of his sobs, Jackson finds it funny that tiny, soft-hearted Luhan thinks he sounds any intimidating. A laugh bubbles from Jackson’s chest, and Luhan leans back just enough to look at him. “What’s so funny?”

“You, thinking you’re tough.” Jackson rubs at his face, embarrassed by how wet his cheeks are.

“I’ll have you know I’m a world-class fencer, Wang.”

“You’re so tiny.”

“You’re short.” Luhan sighs, long and loudly. Jackson glares at him. “You don’t have to give me the details. But Amber said you two fought, and now you’re crying. Did you break up?”

“We weren’t really together.”

“But.. what happened? How’s he doing? Is he okay?”

“He just… we fought… because of my relationship with you.”

Luhan sits up, retracting his limbs and folding his arms over his chest. His eyes are wide and he speaks quickly. “What? Why?”

“Because…” Jackson rolls on his side, pushing his hair from his face. “I don’t… I don’t know. We weren’t _together_ but it felt like we were and -”

“This was before New York?”

Jackson sits up, feeling anxious now. “If Mark and I were a thing I wouldn’t of done anything with you, like, you and I have established that. We’re just _friends_ , and he just kept pushing that we were just friends, and I kept telling myself that’s what we were even though it really didn’t feel like it, but then he got mad when he realized you and I slept together. I don’t get it. How is he going to set a ‘no dating’ clause and then get mad when I obey it? Especially since I’ve been burying my feelings for him and I’m already dealing with so much, between coming out and trying to be casual about it, and the shit with my parents, and the whole wide world judging me for liking men - I can’t bring him out into the spotlight but he wants to be exclusive? He already said he doesn’t want that, that he wants nothing to do with -”

“What are you even mad about?”

“I’m mad...” Jackson feels another sob rising. “I’m mad that he thinks he’s going to keep me at a distance, while he keeps himself surrounded by walls, but then kiss me whenever, and hold my hand, and take naps with me, but then insist we’re just friends, and then act like _I_ did something wrong when I sleep with someone else. I need him to be open and honest with me, because I’m confused, and I feel used, because neither of us talked about it.”

“Okay so then.” Luhan looks unamused. “Talk about it.”

“That’s not the _point_. He said he doesn’t want to deal with me being a celebrity. I’m not psychic I _don’t know_ what he wants because he won’t fuckin tell me. He won’t tell me _anything._ ”

“Amber said you had showed her some of the texts, and that he always checked in on you, and said he missed you, so I’m not getting what’s happening here. He sounds like he liked you?”

“If he wants something more all he has to do is _say it_ and I’ll move the fuckin’ moon for him.”

“So.” Luhan’s rubbing at his face now. “Tell him.”

“Amber’s telling me drop him and you’re telling me to chase after him I don’t know what to _do_ -”

“It sounds like, even though you could’ve easily never spoken again after that first night, he found a place for you in his life.” Luhan’s voice is a little sharper now, bordering on sounding annoyed. “I love Amber, but she’s even more stubborn-headed than you. Maybe Mark needs a little push. Maybe he’s thinking the same thing you are. Maybe he’s just as scared as you. Maybe you’re both morons, and if that’s the case, then you’re perfect for each other. This spiraled into something neither of you were ready for, but that doesn’t mean you have to let each other go. Especially when it sounds like you could make something good out of this.”

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

To add onto the weight already bearing down on him, Jackson gets lost in celebrity life. Magazines want interviews, he’s back and forth from NYC for photoshoots, he does an interview with puppies, he still has to train.

The group chat dies. Jackson doesn’t unfriend anyone on Instagram, but avoids watching their stories. He doesn’t want to know what he’s missing.

If Mark doesn’t want to fix something he fucked up - then _so be it._

Jackson weaves through interviews involving his sexuality and laughs off vague comments about his dating life. Some interviewers waggle their eyebrows when it comes up and Jackson resists rolling his eyes. Some interviewers don’t even blink at the insinuations, and those are the interviews Jackson prefers. He likes it when these questions aren’t turned into a big deal. It’s validating when he’s not used as a device for views, and he hopes the fans see it and realize how comfortable and happy he is, and he hopes it stirs something positive inside the hearts of the public.

TV shows want him as a special guest, and Jackson’s in awe when he sees himself on television for the first time. He’s really on TV, his name highlighted across the bottom of the screen and there are fans at the window, waving support banners decked out in all colors of the rainbow. That’s him. That was him just yesterday morning. But it feels surreal. Like it’s not him. Like he’s looking at a mirage.

He’s breathing a little more. Yixing grins at him from the sidelines and Amber decorates his room in confetti to celebrate his first, official appearance on a Good Morning show. But there’s a sour taste in the back of his mouth and a heaviness in his bones that doesn’t go away no matter how much he sleeps, or works out, or takes ice baths. He turns to yoga, doing Skype sessions with Victoria from the other side of the world. His whole body is still tight when he lies in bed at night.

He can hear Luhan telling him, “Okay so then… talk about it.”

It should be the easiest thing in the world.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

Jackson receives a text one night when he’s in bed, ready to sleep. Curiosity pulls him, and he’s shaking when he sees the name of a friend he never thought he’d hear from again.

 

**Youngjae**  
_[Sept 13]_

My birthday is in 4 days  
What are you doing?  
> 11:48p

 

I didn’t know it was your birthday! What do you want?  
11:48a <

For you to come out with us  
> 11:50p

 

Uh  
Jae  
11:50p <

i don’t know if i can do that  
11:51p <

We miss you.  
Mark misses you.  
I didn’t tell hyungs I was gonna text you  
> 11:53p

They’re all sleeping rn  
> 11:54p

Mark won’t tell us what happened  
> 11:56p

 

 

_[Sept 14]_

Jae… you’re closer to mark than with me whu dont you just ask him?  
12:01a <

why did you stop coming around? we miss you.  
> 12:02a

 

i reall don’t know how to answer that  
lol  
12:03a <

well it’s my birthday and i want to see you >:c  
> 12:07a

 

i don’t want ot get between you guys maybe it’s better if we dont  
12:08a <

you’re my friend. mark doeasn’t decide that for me >>:C  
> 12:10a

 

how come i didn’t notice how stubborn you are from the beginning?  
do you want to get ice cream?  
12:16a <

Yes!!! When do you want to go?  
> 12:17a

 

whn are you free?  
12:19a <

Sun? Afternoon?  
how about 1!!! after lunch.  
> 12:20a

 

do you want to get lunch too?  
12:24a <

FGDUAFHBKDSZVFDS YES !!!!!!!!! :DDDDDDDD  
> 12:30a

YUGYEOM IS GONNA COME ALONG HE MISSES YOU TOO!!  
> 2:35a

 

 

omg when did you go to sleep  
8:04a <

uhhhhh a little after that. jb snores when he’s stressed and jinyoung sleeps like a rcok and i sleep in the middle so :<<<<<<<<  
> 8:17a

 

WHY ARE YOU UP NOW THEN GO SLEEP OMG  
8:47a <

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

Youngjae is outward joy and Yugyeom is witty sarcasm and together, they’re a riot. Lunch flies by, with Youngjae and Jackson’s laughter echoing through the restaurant and Yugyeom telling them to shut up. When they’re outside he uses his long legs to kick both of them in the butts.

Youngjae orders an ice cream cone with three scoops and drops the top two with one lick. He wails, louder than Jackson’s ever able to manage himself, and lands a full-handed attack on Jackson’s back that leaves him breathless. Once Yugyeom is done laughing at the two, he goes off to replace Youngjae’s ice cream, tears streaming down his face.

Being with them erases all doubts and weight from Jackson’s shoulders. He’s breathing evenly for the first time in a long time. He’s slowing down again. Enjoying life and coconut ice cream in an old park just across the street from the parlor. After they finish their desserts, he spins the other two on a playground roundabout until Youngjae swears he’s gonna throw up, and they lie side by side on the wood chips, staring up at the sky. Jackson closes his eyes.

“Hey, grandpa.” Yugyeom teases, poking Jackson’s side. “You ready to head back?”

They blast the Backstreet Boys on the way home. Jackson’s left in awe of well the two can harmonize. His spirits are so high, sailing above the clouds that even though he sees Mark’s car and it registers that Mark’s here, inside, the closest he’s been to Jackson in over a month - Jackson doesn’t think about it. Maybe this is what moving on feels like.

Yugyeom begs Jackson to come in - “For a slice of cake! Please! Bambam made it!” - and Jackson can’t say no to that. A cake that Bambam made? He has to see it for himself. The mental image of Diva Bambam in the kitchen and baking is a funny picture. Jackson knows the drag queen has a heart of gold, but it’s usually forcefully buried down and hidden behind designer brands.

The apartment is the same, only decorated for Youngjae’s birthday with streamers hung from the ceiling and deflating balloons hiding behind the couches. Coco yips and tackles Jackson, nipping at his ankles until he bends over to pick her up and greet her kisses with more kisses.

“Hyungs! C’mere!” Youngjae sticks his head onto his bedroom and pulls his boyfriends out. Jinyoung looks visibly excited to see who’s over, pulling Coco from Jackson’s grasp to get in for a bear hug. Jaebum comes and wraps his arms around both of them.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you again!” Jinyoung can only pull away so far with Jaebum still holding them both. “How have you been? Come eat!”

It’s like falling right back into place, like he was never kicked out. Jinyoung cuts him a too-large slice of cake. It’s soft and yellow and covered in fruits. Jackson’s impressed, but Bambam is at work and not here to hear his praise.

“We’ve been watching all your interviews.” Jaebum says. Yugyeom pours Jackson a cup of skim milk. He’s so thoughtful and it’s so endearing. “I can’t believe… you’re _actually_ famous.”

“I mean, only kind of famous. A celebrity athlete.” Jackson wiggles his eyebrows and puffs up his chest, trying to inflate his own ego. “What do you think of the interviews? Do I look good on camera?”

Jinyoung is leaning over the counter, resting his chin in his palm. He looks so elegant in everything he does. “Yeah, you look great on TV. Shorter, too.”

The group laughs at his jab, and Jackson tries to stab him with a fork.

“I’m gonna be in a commercial soon, too. For some online dating app.”

“Grindr?” Jaebum teases.

“No, some other one. Some All-Love inclusive one that’s meant to be more like E-Harmony than Tinder. I haven’t actually looked into it, but I haven’t signed anything, yet. Yixing wouldn’t steer me wrong.” He’s more excited to be able to hold a man’s hand on television than anything else. This is how he wants to address his sexuality; casually, without someone winking at the camera like it’s a scandalous ordeal.

“Yixing?” Jinyoung seems more interested. “Who’s that?”

“My manager. He’s really cool.” Jackson doesn’t know why it feels necessary, but he pulls out his phone to find some photos. Yixing is young and attractive, and Youngjae zooms in on his face to make that point. Just as Jackson’s praising him as the best manager ever, Jinyoung backs up, casting a weird look over Jackson’s shoulder.

“Oh, hey Markie.”

Jackson turns around against his own volition, pressing a smile onto his face. It’s practiced and perfect for when asked a personal question in interviews, or when the questions become too homophobic. It’s like he’s putting on a show, acting unbothered while trying to prove it to himself, too. He’s met with a sight he’s not prepared for, though. It’s just Mark. He knows it’s Mark. But his nerves spike and his mouth goes dry.

Mark’s hair is shorter now, shaved on the sides with the longer top portion gelled back. It’s coppery - possibly faded red, and Jackson needs time to process this. He stares long enough for the others to notice, for his eyes to meet with Mark’s, and it hurts, almost physically, to be met with a wall behind Mark’s eyes. Jackson says hello, and turns back around.

Fine. He’ll be _fine._

“Can you two just talk about this?” Jinyoung says. Mark passes by for what he came for - to put a plate in the sink and grab some water, but says nothing.

Jackson feels dread. He’s not sure what’s worse; Mark’s silence, or Yugyeom’s gaze on him, expectant for something to happen.

Speaking to each other is the most obvious thing to do. But something stubborn in Jackson turns him feeling into a monster; impatient and insecure and hostile. If Mark wouldn’t open his damn mouth that first night, what makes Jackson think he’s going to say something now?

Instead, Mark does say something. “What’s there to talk about?”

Jackson spins. Jaebum has to catch the stool from knocking to the tiles. The whole room blurs. “I have a lot to talk about. It’s you with the issues, here.”

So a full-frontal attack, in front of nearly everyone, isn’t the way to go. But here we are. Fucking things up. Probably for a second time. Mark’s expression twists and he steps back. His voice comes out tight and tense, and he jerks his shoulder back when Jackson extends his hand out, only meaning to catch Mark before he runs away.

“Don’t touch me.”

If Mark says not to touch him, then Jackson won’t. No matter how angry he is. He pulls his hand back and instead steps forward to close the distance between them. Mark still looks defiant, but his eyes dart down to where Jackson’s hand hangs at his side. For a split second the fire extinguishes in Mark’s eyes.

When he looks back up, that dark, angry expression is back. “I’m going to bed.”

No. Jackson’s here. The argument has already started, and he’s not backing out of this one. Not like last time. He follows Mark down the hallway and steps into his room, closing and leaning on the door behind him. Mark stands near his bed, clenching the glass in a white-knuckled grip.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“Me?” Mark glares, his tone and gaze matching the intensity Jackson’s got coiling in his gut. “You’re so full of shit. You can’t keep your dick in your pants.”

“What type of bullshit -”

“You fucked Luhan the _day after_ you fucked me.” And with that, his whole facade crumples. Mark’s voice shakes and Jackson wishes the ground would open up and Hell would welcome him right on in. “I know… I know… we had no boundaries set. I _know_ we weren’t… dating.” He steps forward, sloshing water all over the floor and his socks. He winces, casting a look down at the mess, and looks back up with tears in his eyes. “But I thought that - whatever it was that we were doing, would’ve been worth. I don’t know. _More._ I’d lost you before I even got to have you.”

The heat in Jackson’s chest sludges through his veins. This. This is not what he’d expected. Everything Jackson’s been angry over has been voided out. Mark thought that Jackson sleeping with Luhan meant that he didn’t care. Jackson thought that Mark had been out of bounds with his distrust.

“That’s not…” Jackson doesn’t know what to say. He wants to shrivel up and dry out. “That’s not why I thought you were mad at me… I thought _you_ didn’t care.” Even with five other guys and a dog in the apartment somewhere, it’s eerily silent. “Can we talk about this?”

Mark shakes his head. “I have to be up early. I’m going to bed.” He’s evading and Jackson doesn’t want that.

“If you really want to be with me, you have to _show_ me. And pushing me away right now isn’t doing that. Do you not care about us?” He reaches out, remembers Mark’s outburst, and pulls his hand back behind him, held in place between his back and door. Mark watches the movement very carefully through teary eyes. “I need you to be honest with me, instead of hiding behind a wall and locking me out. Because it’s not fair that you keep tugging me along like some sick puppy. I want to talk about this.”

Mark looks up, catching his gaze. “I really need to be up early. I’m tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Seeing him cry hurts so much. Jackson wishes he could comfort him now, but he knows he’ll be overstepping something invisible, something he can’t cross right now.

Once he turns away, Jackson spins, feeling tears prickling his eyes and feeling his throat already tighten. He leaves the room and rushes down the hall, where the rest of the group is sitting, the tail-end of their whispers buzzing and the way they look at Jackson is a mixture of shame and pity. Neither of which he needs right now.

“I have to go.” He says, grabbing his phone and wallet from the counter. He avoids everyone’s gaze. “I want to go home. Thanks for the cake, thanks for inviting me in. I have to - I gotta - bye.”

He makes it down the hallway and into the elevator, and as he sees Jaebum slip out of the apartment and dash down the hall, Jackson slams his finger on the close door button. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to deal with the wrath of Mark’s angsty best friend.

But Jaebum catches the doors even though they’re almost closed enough that he risks getting his fingers caught. He sends a glare to Jackson, who presses into the corner of the elevator like he can hide.

“We need to talk.” Jaebum presses the button for the first floor, and Jackson just feels sicker and sicker as they make it to and through the lobby, and outside towards Jackson’s car.

He lets Jaebum in, and hopes that Jaebum doesn’t wring his neck and leave him to die in the front seat of his own car.

“Hyung really likes you.”

That’s not what Jackson was expecting.

“And I was really under the impression that you like him, too.”

“I do.”

Jaebum just trudges forward. “You always made time for him despite your packed schedule, and you fell right into place between the rest of us. I really didn’t like you at first, but you grew on me.”

Yeah, that had been made abundantly clear that first morning.

“Hyung might act closed off and stand-offish, but -”

“He cares a lot and he cares deeply.”

That makes Jaebum stop. He leans back, relaxing so much that it makes Jackson feels less like prey. Taking it as a good sign, Jackson barrels on, “He’s really sensitive, and he gives his all to the person he cares about, but he has all these weird barriers and walls that I don’t know how to climb over. And I’ve been trying to be patient because he really likes his own space, figuring that if I just wait, he’ll let me in. And I won’t have to force myself into his world. But this has gone on so long that it’s starting to feel like I’ll never really be let in. And I need validation, too. I’m selfish. And I’m tired. I don’t have time to play guessing games with a relationship when I have to walk on eggshells over every other part of my life.”

The silence rings on like the effect of a bell tolled. Jaebum is staring at Jackson, searching him, with his lips slightly parted and wonder caught in the gleam in his eyes.

“I wasn’t expecting you to say all that.”

Jackson wishes he had something to hide behind.

“It’s not my place to tell you why he’s like that, especially since he hasn’t said it himself, but know that relationships are hard for him. And you’ve shown him more love and respect than any of his exes.” Jaebum pats his own thighs, rubbing his hands down to cup around his knees. He breathes out, sounding a little breathless. “I really didn’t think this was going to turn out like this.”

Ignoring that the words, _you’ve shown him more love and respect than any of his exes_ sits ugly in the front of Jackson’s mind, he instead mumbles, “What did you think was gonna happen?”

“I guess part of me was ready to punch you in the fucking face.” He looks over at Jackson, but it’s non-threatening. “And a part of me thought I was going to have lay some shit out for you. But you clearly get hyung more than I thought you did.”

“So you thought either I was an asshole intentionally, or that I was just a dumbass.”

The corner of Jaebum’s lip quirks up. “You’re still a dumbass.”

“That’s fair.” Jackson quickly accepts that, “What does that mean, by the way?” He tries out an unfamiliar word, one he hears Jaebum say when referring to Mark.

“Hyung means older brother.” Jaebum explains.

“But you’re not related?”

Jaebum looks amused by the question. “No.”

That makes sense. “Oh. So it’s like gege.”

“Maybe?”

Jackson spots Jinyoung from the corner of his eye. The man is peering over as if he’s expecting the worse. Jackson wonders if this mean Jaebum has wailed on an ex before, and that’s a horrifying thought.

They step out of the car and Jinyoung’s eyes scan Jackson’s body. Is he really looking for physical harm? “You guys okay out here?”

While he and his boyfriend exchange words in Korean, Jackson gets in his car and starts it. He jumps when Jinyoung steps up to the window and places a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll see you later. Let one of us know when you get home.” Jinyoung smiles and looks pleased now, with Jaebum looking on with a small smile, too.

The two of them looking at him reassuringly sparks hope and confidence.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

They make plans to meet at Jackson’s house around 4:30, after Mark gets out from work. At around 4:40, Jackson is pacing around his bedroom. He’s already showered and picked out clothes; joggers and a tank top, non-descript, and texts Mark to know if he got the address okay. At 4:45, he’s going downstairs to the dining room. Past the great bay windows and over the neatly trimmed hedges is Mark. And Ricky.

Jackson bolts outside in his slippers, glancing worriedly between the two. Ricky turns around when Mark spots Jackson coming up to them.

“You didn’t tell me we were having a guest!” Ricky says with a grin, reaching out to clap a hand on his son’s shoulder. He’s holding dirt-crusted garden gloves in his other hand, leaning against a garden hoe. Jackson hadn’t been aware his father planned on working in the garden.

Mark glances between them. “You look very alike.” He says in Mandarin.

Jackson hadn’t known Mark could speak it.

Ricky hooks an arm around Jackson’s shoulder and pulls him in, Jackson coming in like a rag doll. “I’m where he gets his good looks from.”

This would be where Jackson would insert a joke - make a comment about how his mother is beautiful. But he’s feeling out of place and sideways. Because he hadn’t known Mark spoke Mandarin, but stands here holding a whole conversation nearly effortlessly. Jackson wonders if he fell asleep, and is dreaming this whole thing up.

“Anyway,” Ricky breaks off his own tangent. Jackson’s barely listening. “I’ve been keeping you too long. Why don’t you go inside?”

With nothing but questions of Mark’s family history on the forefront of his brain, Jackson stumbles when a hand grabs his arm, pulling him back. Ricky wears a very serious expression. “I want you to keep your bedroom door open.”

Jackson’s whole face boils red with embarrassment. Mark is staring at him. The ground could open up and just eat him.

“Dad you’re not.... serious…”

Mark mumbles, “Oh, my God.”

“I’m very serious.”

Feeling like he’s sixteen again trying to smuggle Amber into his room, Jackson just nods and hides his face behind his hands, dragging Mark inside the house.

“That was so embarrassing holy fuck.” Jackson offers Mark a pair of slippers while he slides his sneakers off. “I’m so sorry.”

Thankfully, Mark can laugh about it.

“I didn’t even know he was gonna be home. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to scare you away by putting my dad outside.”

“It’s okay, really.” Mark follows through the dining room and over polished, wood floors, up the stairs and to Jackson’s room. Jackson leaves the door propped, but Mark pulls it back open, giving a wider view of the bedroom from the hallway. “I’m not battling it out with your dad…”

Mark stands awkwardly in Jackson’s room. It’s spacious, with cherry oak floors that Jackson’s mother has painstakingly made sure wouldn’t get scuffed by wrapping all the legs of the furniture. Jackson’s bed is huge, unmade, and covered in pillows. Most friends want to sink into it, but Mark avoids it, slinking over to the desk instead, glancing at the textbooks, settling down in the worn leather of the rolling chair. He pats his thighs, runs his hands over his scrubs, and presses his lips together. Their eyes meet, and Jackson grows more and more nervous as Mark just won’t look at him, instead looking over at the photos tacked on a corkboard on the wall over the desk.

“I didn’t even know you spoke Mandarin.” Is how Jackson breaks the silence.

“Yeah,” Mark’s wiping his palms on his pants again. The shirt swallows him up, making him look small. “I grew up speaking it at home.” And that’s it. That’s all he offers. Jackson’s mind is running again.

“You never talk about your family. Is it a touchy subject?” But he thinks of the tattoos on the backs of Mark’s calves. The flowers for his sisters and mother.

“It’s not. I guess… I just don’t talk about them much because of Yugyeom and Jinyoung. Because of the shit with their parents, y’know?” He’s much more comfortable speaking of his friends, but that’s not what Jackson wants to know. He wants to know more about _Mark._

“This.” He gestures to the air. Mark’s not getting it. Jackson’s determined to make it clear. “This is why I thought… This is why I couldn’t figure out what you wanted from me. We were getting so… cozy… with each other. But you never talk about your personal life. I’m afraid to push it, because I don’t know _where_ we’re going with this, but this push and pull is also really exhausting. I need you to let me in. There’s only so much trying I can do before it feels like I’m intentionally being left out, and that I really mean nothing to you. I slept with Luhan…” Jackson watches how Mark’s eyebrows press together. He continues on though, knowing this is the best way to heal the wound. “Because we’re comfortable and it’s mutual and we’ve been doing it for so long now and I thought… I thought I was giving you the space and privacy you wanted. I thought I could get you out of my head if I went back to an old habit. Which… is really fucked up of me to say. About a best friend.” Jackson tries to push that down. He can’t deal with that. Not now. He can’t deal with his relationship with Luhan while trying to fix what he’s got with Mark.

The floor opens up, and Mark grips the end of his shirt, taking the opening. “I don’t like to talk much about myself. But when I’m with you I talk a lot more. I’m comfortable with you. I _like_ you.” Mark glances towards the open door, but there’s no one there. The lawnmower hums beyond the closed windows. “I want us to date. But I’m not good at this… this _feelings,_ shit. And I’m sorry. That’s my fault.”

Jackson looks at him, hope filling his heart. He wants to hear all of this instead of just assume.

“You being a public figure is real fuckin’ scary, too. And I’m not good with relationships. My last serious relationship, the one that went past a few dates and into boyfriend territory really made me…” He struggles. Stares at the floor. “It ended up with me being the fuckin’ idiot that got cheated on. So when it finally clicked that you’d slept with Luhan - while you said you’d missed me, and while we acted like a couple, made me freak the fuck out. I thought this was the same wash, rinse, repeat bullshit. I was just the side fuck. I really don’t actually mean anything. I never have.”

Jackson shakes his head, veins running cold, as Mark sets his expressions and mumbles, “And the relationship before that - the one. I was eighteen, turning nineteen.” Mark’s voice comes out clipped and he shakes, he’s sitting, but Jackson can see the way his shoulders quiver.

“You don’t have to.” Jackson has an idea of where this is going. He thinks of how Mark watched him pull away last night. Or how Jaebum had mentioned how Jackson respects Mark. If those memories don’t have to come back, even if Jackson’s unsure of what they might actually entail, then he’s not pushing it.

“No. I want to.” Mark still doesn’t look up.

“When I said honest, I meant about how you feel. Now. With me. About me. About us. If there’s something you don’t want to talk about then don’t think you have to if you’re not ready.” The lawnmower outside stops, and Jackson takes a moment to listen to the silence from down the hall, keeping an ear out in case his dad comes inside.

“No.” Mark mumbles again. “My first _real_ boyfriend, the first one outside of high school was during my first fall semester of college... he was kind of a jackass. He was like three-times a senior, and, like, seven years older than me, and the first time we fucked he made a comment about me being barely legal, which should’ve been a red flag. But I… didn’t know how to spot those. I didn’t understand. Back then I thought it was kind of funny.”

Jackson sits cross-legged and rigid on the bed. He’s so focused and hyper-aware of Mark. He swears he can hear his breathing, and tries to read the press of Mark’s eyebrows and the way his teeth catches his bottom lip.

“He didn’t… treat me right. He wasn’t good to me in bed. He brushed me off all the time, but would dote on me when I started to back out, or didn’t want to fuck.”

Jackson saw this coming, but isn’t prepared, and the way his heart squeezes and fury spark makes the room spin.

“He didn’t care about me. He always stepped out for phone calls, never took me out, never introduced me as his boyfriend but insisted he still cared, and flirted with a fuckton of other people. If I questioned it, I was crazy, or delusional, or that he _really didn’t mean it_. We didn’t last very long, only a couples of months, because when I told Bambam that I didn’t understand what the fuck was happening, Bambam went to Jaebum. And then Jaebum showed up at his apartment.”

Jackson’s fear last night of Jaebum coming to corner him hadn’t just been his nerves. “Did he beat him up?”

Mark looks guilty. Jackson almost feels bad for wanting to applaud Jaebum, maybe build a statue in his honor. “JB spent the night in jail because the roommate called the cops as soon as Jaebum threw the first punch. But, yeah, he broke the guy’s nose and gave him a concussion.” His chest heaves, and Jackson reaches for the desk chair to roll it close. He extends his hands out, letting Mark initiate contact only if he wants.

When he does though, the tears start. It starts with one loose tear, then a sniffle, then Mark’s leaning forward to press his face into Jackson’s chest. The need to protect and support him floods in strong, and Jackson pulls him in.

When Jackson cries he cries loud, fat tears and his body shakes. But Mark is quiet, stifling his sobs as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. He wraps his arms around Jackson’s waist as Jackson holds him around his shoulders.

“I know it could’ve been worse -”

“Don’t say that. You’re hurt. Your feelings are valid.” Jackson buries his face in Mark’s hair and closes his eyes. He wishes he knew what more to say, and hopes that his comfort can help enough. He sinks back into the pillows and takes Mark’s small body with him. “Take it one step at a time.”

Mark smells like mint and bubble gum and latex. Like toothpaste, floss, and gloves. Jackson keeps both arms wrapped around him. “I wish I had been clearer about my feelings a long time ago, so that we didn’t end up in this mess.”

“No.” Mark doesn’t move. His expression is tired, and Jackson thinks this is closest they’ve ever been. “No, because I didn’t want that. But I really did. And this shit doesn’t even make sense to _me_. I fuckin’ panicked when I found out who you are. But when you were asking me to hang out I really wanted that. Because the sex was good. And you’re hot as fuck, and way out my league, and honestly, just a fantasy. So even though we both pushed ‘just friends’ and even though I kept repeating it to myself… I couldn’t keep my hands off of you. And you couldn’t keep your hands off me and I just, like, let it happen. I really wanted it to be _just sex_. But you ended being more than just… hot. Or a good fuck. I really started to like you, so when I figured out what happened with Luhan I just got frustrated and confused and told myself that this was way too fuckin’ good to be true. You’re too good to be true. Because you act like I’m important to you, and you look at me like none of my exes ever did, and you interact with all my friends like they’re important to you, too. My exes didn’t care for me, and even less my friends. So when you started showing up on TV you just seemed more and more out of reach and you went back to being just a fantasy.”

“I like you.” Jackson rests his cheek against the top of Mark’s head and doesn’t let anything come filtered. His large room still feels large, mostly unfilled, but his bed has never felt safer. It’s the time of day where the sunlight drapes in, warm and ready to rest for the night. “I really really like you. I want to take you out for dates and hold your hand in public and take Coco for walks and I want to buy you things. I want to come home to you after practice, after seeing Amber, after doing anything.”

“You’re a celebrity that’s surrounded by amazing personalities and models… I just… don’t get it. Even when you were obvious about your feelings and even when everyone else pointed it out, I just wasn’t getting it. How could I have gotten _your_ attention? What do you even see me?”

“You’re someone I trust and admire, someone who would do anything for his friends even though he’s got all these walls up and acts kind of stand-offish. Someone who would tattoo flowers on his legs for the women in his life. Someone who would set me straight when I need it. Someone who would… someone I could love and support back. Someone who makes me curious. Who calms me down, but is up for a good time. I want to see you succeed and have fun and enjoy life because you’ve worked so hard and you’re such an amazing, complete person all on your own that inspires me to be _me._ ”

Mark tilts back to look up at him. Jackson reaches up to wipe away the tears, and let his hand rest on Mark’s face. He doesn’t stop talking.

“You’ve worked me down from a panic attack. We were barely friends and you still did that for me. And I’m so embarrassed -”

“Don’t be.”

“- But it means so much to me. You mean so much to me. And I really want to give us a try. Even if we have to restart this whole thing and go back to square one. I don’t want to lose you.”

Jackson welcomes Mark to bury his face into his shoulder.

“And you’re so stupid if you don’t think you’re the most beautiful man on the planet.”

Mark tightens his grip and takes a deep, steadying breath. “I should’ve been more honest with you. I’m sorry I held a lot back. I really didn’t know what I was thinking.” Mark mumbles, staying locked in the hug. Jackson only shakes his head, holding on tighter, hoping that somehow Mark will understand just how much he means to Jackson. How much he wants to fix this.

“Can we just… talk?”

Mark leans back, pulling away to rub the tears away from his face. “Yeah, whatever you wanna talk about.”

“Yeah. Yes.” Jackson nudges him to get up. “Do you want a change of clothes? We’re gonna be here a while.”

Mark accepts a change of sweatpants and a tee-shirt. Jackson’s clothes are a size or two too big, not because of height because he’s bulkier, and Mark looks so small, so comfortable and home-y. He buries himself in the pillows and when he smiles up at Jackson, it feels like the sun hasn’t quite set yet.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

They lie an arm’s length away from each other, somewhat because of the possibility of Jackson’s parents walking in, but also because they don’t need to be on top of each other all the time. This distance is cozy, and what they both need right now. No matter how much Jackson wants to shower Mark in kisses and hold his hand and snuggle into his side, he likes the casual air between them, and how they fill it with fun memories and reminders of easier days.

It seems to help Mark breathe, too, because he’s the type of person that doesn’t try to take up too much space.

At some point, as they’re talking by the light on the lamp, Sophia pokes her head in. She knocks carefully and comes in with two plates of food.

“Dinner was a few hours ago and I didn’t want to interrupt. It’s warm if you’d like to eat.” She places the food on the desk and comes in, not at all bothered by Jackson having another guy on his bed, like he thought she’d be. Instead she looks excited, eyes fixed on Mark as she comes towards them. “I’m Jackson’s mother, Sophia Wang.”

Mark sits up and reaches out to shake her hand, standing to bow properly. “I’m Mark Tuan. It’s really nice to meet you.”

She glances curiously at her son, and he knows she’s thinking of the day he spent crying in bed, and she’s wondering if they’ve fixed whatever he wouldn’t tell her. “And you’re Jackson’s friend? One of the boys from that group he’s been hanging out with?”

“Yeah, those are all my roommates.”

As Mark mingles, sweetly charming Sophia, Jackson sits back and watches the way Mark falls easily into conversation with her, and how Sophia’s eyes crinkle as she smiles.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

“I’ll record his reaction for you.” Bambam stands in the doorway of Mark’s room with a hand covering his mouth like he’s trying to hide the huge grin that’s across his face. Jackson’s on a tight schedule, so this is the only chance he has today to be here when Mark isn’t.

“I’m a whole twenty days late on his birthday.” A part of the way he stomps around is due to anger. No one bothered to tell him when Mark’s birthday was. He had to steal Mark’s wallet and check his ID. Mark said he wouldn’t tell him because he felt guilty for not mentioning it before. The others had thrown a small party, one Jackson had missed the Instagram stories of because he’d been so actively avoiding everyone. Not that it would’ve made a difference, anyway. He wouldn’t of had the guts to reach out back then; before they’d talked things through.

They’re still working on fixing it, it’s been a few days since they’ve spoken. They’ve taken long, long strides in the right direction.

So now, Jackson’s throwing heart-shaped confetti all over the floor - he can practically hear Jinyoung complaining about not wanting to see that throughout the apartment - and letting loose a dozen balloons of all colors. He puts two gifts on the bed, prettily wrapped and topped with bows, done by his mom because he’s a disaster with gift wrap and tape. Jackson puts the candles on the dresser, on either side of the centered bouquet.

“Woah,” Jaebum’s voice calls from the doorway. It’s just past noon, he’s just waking up, and rubs his eyes as he stares into the bedroom. “What’s this?”

“Jackson’s love confession.” Bambam laughs.

The delighted look Jaebum gives Jackson reminds him of the worse spoken days ago in the car, _you’ve shown him more love and respect than any of his exes._ Jackson understands it now, and knows that Jaebum understands this isn’t being done because of those words, but because this is what Jackson likes to do.

“Are just you two gonna be home when he gets here?” Jackson asks, turning to the two of them. They both nod; Youngjae and Yugyeom will be at class, and Jinyoung won’t be home until closer to seven. Jackson can probably be back around six, an hour or so after Mark gets home, so he won’t be here during the reveal. He says good-bye, and heads out to meet with his mom at church. He couldn’t get out of previous plans for a surprise gift for Mark, and that’s fine. He’s made do.

Sophia is pacing by the time he reaches the church. She checks the time on her watch and taps her foot at her son.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Jackson grabs her shoulders and plants a kiss on her forehead. He feels miles high, excited to hear how Mark reacts to the surprise later on. “I’m here now, let’s go in.”

They’re helping redecorate the basement of the church; old furniture is being trashed and newly donated furnishings are coming in. Jackson helps carry in a couch with one of the other guys his age, and one of the other women takes a vacuum and spray to it. Jackson’s so busy that his mother doesn’t get to corner him until a few hours in, when they’re stopping for sandwiches made by Mrs. Georgie and coffee brewed by a gallon.

“What’s wrong?” Jackson asks, leaning in when his mother does.

“How did it go?”

“Uh,” Jackson glances around the room. “I think I have a splinter from the table -”

“No!” She shakes his arm. Jackson’s trying to aim the sandwich into his mouth. “With the gifts I wrapped for you! I saw your car this morning, full of balloons and flowers.” Her eyes glitter, and she’s smiling, genuinely excited for her son’s blossoming romance.

“Oh!” It’s still a little weird to talk about, though. “I just dropped everything off. He won’t be home until five.”

Sophia stares at him. “You don’t plan on being there to give it to him?”

“I’ll be here.”

“What was it for?”

“Oh, his birthday. It was the fourth.”

Sophia shakes her head and gets up from the chair. “No, this won’t do. C’mon.” She drags her son to the Pastor and apologizes a thousand times, but they have to get going. The Pastor just grins and assures her it’s alright. She’s done enough.

“Did you buy a cake?” Sophia asks as she climbs into the Subaru. “Or cupcakes?”

“They already did a cake.” Jackson feels weird, like he can’t keep up.

“Well, do another one!”

Jackson peels out of the parking lot, feeling rushed. His mother helps him pick out a cake from a bakery downtown, a cake big enough for seven of them, with a creamy frosting and a pile of sprinkles on top. While his mother digs for candles, Jackson takes a shower, scrubbing off all the sweat and dirt. When he changes into sweatpants his mother pushes him back up the stairs insisting he can’t wear that.

“Mom this is my day-to-day style. Why would I change?”

“No, take him out for dinner, too.”

It’s no surprise that Sophia is trying to get her son into a pair of trousers and a dress shirt. Jackson objects, and sends Bambam an SOS text.

Combining his mom’s advice with Bambam’s, Jackson keeps the button-down, rolls up the sleeves and doesn’t tuck it into a pair of light-wash jeans. Sophia doesn’t object, but protests on the Vans and hands him his pair of all white Nike’s.

“I hope it goes well.” She gives him a tight hug. “You look so handsome, my son.” Jackson stays a moment to hug her back. She’s so supportive and excited that Jackson almost forgets he had to hide this from her for nine years.

“Thank you, mom. Thank you so much.”

She pushes him away, and Jackson buckles up the cake in the passenger seat and floors it to Mark’s.

 

Bambam is waiting by the front door with BB Cream ready to go. “C’mon, sit.” He pushes Jackson down on the couch while Jaebum takes the cake to stick it in the fridge. He eyes the outfit while putting make-up on. “You’re taking him out, too?”

Jackson closes his eyes while Bambam works on his face. “Yeah. Is dinner and a movie too lame?”

“Oh, my God.” Bambam rolls his eyes, letting a smile crack through. “You two are so gay.”

“That’s literally the point.” Jackson mumbles.

“JB,” Bambam commands. It’s odd to see Jaebum listen, attentive when his name is called. “I need my Tarte blush, my blending brush, and my Better-than-Sex mascara.”

Jaebum pauses, looks visibly overwhelmed, then runs off. He comes back moments later with more items than requested.

“Do you know _how many_ blushes you have?”

“I need the eyelash curler, too.”

Jaebum stares at him.

“The torture device.”

Jaebum dumps all the products from his hands onto the coffee table, and runs off again.

“How do you do that? How do you get him to listen to you? I’m terrified of Jaebum.” Jackson whispers, amazed. He gets such a weird image of Jaebum; the one that rolls on the floor with stray cats, to the one that would let Youngjae get away with murder, to the one that punches abusive exes and lands himself in jail for the night, that seeing him run around like this almost doesn’t compute with the others.

“You do know that I’ve known JB like, my whole life, right?” Bambam winks and waves his hand in the air. “Besides, what’s there to be scared of? He’s soft for _two_ men and has four cats.” He picks up the blush and rubs a brush into it.

“Four?”

“He picked up another one from the street like, a week ago. We’re gonna turn into a kennel.”

Jaebum returns then, handing out the eyelash curler. He sits at the kitchen table and watches the transformation, picking Coco up into his arms and planting kisses all over her head. He keeps an eye out the kitchen window, where there’s the view of the parking lot, and lets them know when Mark’s Kia pulls in.

“Okay, you’re done. This is enough. Close your eyes.” Bambam barely gives Jackson the chance to close his eyes or mouth, and he eats some setting spray. Jaebum shoves the cake into Jackson’s hands and pushes him down the hallway.

Through the door he can hear Coco greet her dad, he can hear Bambam and Jaebum shouting hello, and he can hear the sound of Mark’s keys dangling as he makes his way towards his room. There’s a pause, probably when he notices the light shining under the door, and calls out,

“Who was in my - uh, Bambam, what are you doing?”

“Shut up. Mind your own business.”

“You’re literally pointing- ” Mark pushes the door open, and Jackson lifts the cake so it’s nearly in his face. “Happy birthday!”

While Jackson’s switching his weight from one foot to the other, itching with excitement, Bambam reaches around to light the sparklers on the cake. The candles hiss, and Jackson gets closer, grinning at the stunned, frozen look on Mark’s face. Jackson’s not very confident in his singing voice, but he sings Happy Birthday anyway, cutting off mid-way to laugh when Mark can’t hold it in anymore, and cries.

“This is so embarrassing I hate you.”

Seeing him cry because he’s happy makes Jackson’s heart leap. “Make a wish and blow out the candles!”

Bambam swings around to capture the moment, and Jaebum stands in the doorway, looking on affectionately. Mark pauses, closes his eyes to make a wish, and leans over to blow out the sparklers. Once they’re all out Mark takes the cake and places it on his desk, on top of what looks like important mail, and throws himself at Jackson.

Jackson’s not prepared, licking frosting off his fingers, and trips with an armful of Mark. They crash to the floor, Jackson trying not to yell in pain, lips slotting awkwardly with Mark’s.

It’s only been a few days. But their conversations are smoother now, their time together is sweet. Their friends are rooting for them again, and even though this is their first kiss in months, Jackson has no problem with how awkward it is, how hard it is to properly kiss Mark while they’re both laughing and grinning and Jackson’s trying to tell him about the gifts on the bed.

“You didn’t have to.” Mark buries into Jackson’s neck. They’re seated on the floor, Mark small and curled up in Jackson’s lap, while Jackson tries to stretch for the gifts. They’ve been left alone by the other two, the door open only a sliver.

“I wanted to.”

Watching Mark unwrap the gifts makes Jackson nervous. He didn’t want to get something ostentatious like a gold bracelet, but didn’t want to be cheap either. The first gift is in a smaller box - a docking station for his IPhone, completely made out of stone. Mark runs his fingers over the cool material and goes to plug it in. He comes back to Jackson’s lap once his phone is docked and charging. The second gift is even smaller, it’s in the card. A gift certificate to a spa.

“I hope I’m not jumping into this too fast into this but I thought a spa day for the two of us would be -”

Mark leans in over and kisses him. It’s much slower this time, and warms Jackson’s heart. Calms him down. He leans in for another kiss; solidifying his feelings with a firm press of their lips.

“This is for a month from now.”

“Dude. They were booked.” Jackson wraps two arms around him and pulls him in for another kiss. “Can we go? I want to take you on a date, too.”

He waits while Mark changes out his scrubs, gazing at the rainbow of balloons and picking confetti off his feet, and when he’s leaning over one of the dresser drawers looking for a shirt, wearing just a pair of jeans, he spots the bouquet.

“You bought me flowers and candles, too?”

And once again, Jackson ends up with an armful of Mark, locked in a passionate kiss that’s slowly pushing dinner and movie plans to the back burner. Until Jackson remembers no. They have to go. He’s planning on asking Mark out officially tonight.

Mark whines when Jackson’s hands stop his hips. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m taking you out. Put a shirt on.”

Mark nips at his neck, a hand running through his hair, successfully drowning down Jackson’s resolve. “We could order in.”

No. He wants to do this right. Jackson gets up, squats down, hooks his arms under Mark’s knees and around his shoulders, and lifts the lithe body up off the floor. He drops Mark to stand, and Mark looks successfully jarred.

“That was so hot.”

All Jackson does it laugh and pat his butt to get him in gear. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

Once they’re out on the pier, shoes and socks off, feet dangling off the side and in the water, Mark sitting between Jackson’s thighs and looking up at the moon, Jackson asks him out. He holds both of Mark’s hands in his, holding on tightly, and asks while peppering sweet, soft and easy kisses on Mark’s shoulder.

Mark leans back to meet their lips, whispering, “Yeah.” He grins into the kiss, the dock swaying with the waves. “You’re so cute. I can feel your heartbeat.”

“Dude,” Jackson whines, still too jittery and nervous to be embarrassed over that. “I was so nervous. I am so nervous. My heart’s really gonna explode.”

Mark leans back a little more, gripping Jackson’s hands.

A few weeks ago, Jackson wasn’t sure what Mark meant when he said, _‘It makes me nervous when you look at me like that.’_ But now he wonders if that means he was looking at Mark then, the way Mark is looking at him now.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

The whole gang is here; even Sunyoung is in from Massachusetts. She’d taken the time off to see Amber’s tournament in LA, and since Amber’s apartment is too small for ten people, and ten people is too loud for Mark’s apartment complex, Jackson’s house had become the prime location for the group’s rendezvous point. Jackson doesn’t even have to ask his parents for this sort of thing; they’ve stated before that they prefer get-togethers to happen at their house to ensure everyone’s safety. They even went out for the night.

Things had started smoothly. Bambam gets into everything and Yugyeom says he’s never been in a house this big, and then meanders down the hallway with Youngjae. Jinyoung goes to drag them back. But Jackson feels nervous having his friends over at his house even though he doesn’t know why, they’ve all met. His mood plummets when Yixing texts him, _Are you home? I have something for you_ because it’s been three hours since without a follow-up reply.

Mark’s ears perk at the name, pauses, and then seems to remember who that is. He hasn’t met Jackson’s manager yet.

“I’m sure everything is fine.” Amber says, sipping a beer. “Yixing is weird like that.” Victoria doesn’t seem to hold the same sentiment, biting her lip. Jackson doesn’t ask, but his fear skyrockets.

“Does he normally send you cryptic texts?” Jaebum is filing through Jackson’s movie collection, by the television in the room. He and Yugyeom are trying to pick one. Jinyoung’s sulking because his choice had been shot down, while Mark and Youngjae hog the television for the time being, playing Overwatch until a movie is chosen.

“He’s the world’s worst texter.” Jackson mumbles, staring at the little envelope on his cell phone screen. He’s waiting for a text. Any minute now would be nice. This isn’t the first time Yixing has sent Jackson’s anxiety through the roof over a message he claimed had innocent intentions.

Yugyeom shouts excitedly, making Jackson jump in his chair, reaching around Jaebum to snag one of the cases off the shelf. “You have Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island on DVD!”

“That’s the winner.” Bambam comes out of Jackson’s walk-in closet, where he’s been going through Jackson’s stuff. “Anyone who objects can walk right the fuck out.”

“You two are oddly perfect for each other.” Sunyoung comment on the couple as Amber laughs at her side.

Jaebum makes a face, shaking his head like an objection. But Youngjae speaks up from the foot of Jackson’s bed, “If you have any objections you can walk right out.” Jinyoung watches his boyfriends stare at each other, until Youngjae points to the door to make his point. Jaebum gets up to seek revenge for the betrayal, climbing on Youngjae’s lap to mash buttons on the controller. It’s entertaining to watch them wrestle with Mark right next to them, still transfixed on the screen like he’s not in the cross-fires of possibly getting an elbow in the face.

Whatever goal Jaebum had when he’d attacked Youngjae is clearly achieved, because Youngjae dies in the game and Mark’s screeching in a pitch Jackson’s never heard before. He’s yelling something about a healer, and Jaebum goes to sulk with Jinyoung, plopping in his lap and smushing his face into Jinyoung’s stomach.

“There, there.” Jinyoung pats his head, wrapping his legs around Jaebum’s body. “You’ll be okay.”

Since they’re already familiar with the layout of Jackson’s home, Amber and Sunyoung go downstairs to get snacks from the kitchen. Jackson switches the TV settings so they can pop the movie in. He steals a kiss from Mark simply because he can, and Youngjae coos. Bambam pretends to gag.

When the couple comes back upstairs, they’re with snacks and guests. Yixing and Luhan are here with popcorn and more drinks.

All that anxiety turns to rock in Jackson’s stomach. His mind flashes; _Luhan and Mark in the same room!!_ and he panics. Them meeting is inevitable, but not like this, not when Jackson’s not prepared. This is a situation he’s been avoiding thinking about since day one. He feels the mood shift, how the room goes tense, and all eyes fall on him and he’s even more aware of the way Mark sighs a strained, stressed out noise from behind him.

Not sensing the calamity shift in the bedroom, Luhan comes barreling into Jackson’s arms, nearly taking him down. Luhan is all jittery. It’s a high from jetlag. He’s probably going to crash soon. He’s talking at a million miles a minute, introducing himself in broken English and pulling stuff out his overstuffed bags. He brought snacks from China and Amber nearly mauls him for them.

Jackson spins around once Luhan’s not in his arms anymore and snaps his mouth shut when he sees the way the way Mark glares at him. There aren’t enough apologies in the world. It’s too soon for this to be happening and Jackson doesn’t know how to handle it. He knows everyone’s watching him, and Yixing, who hasn’t been totally filled in, is staring on with interest, so Jackson doesn’t think and just _does_. It’s what he’s best at.

He takes Mark’s hand and tugs on Luhan’s shirt, and just as he’s about to introduce them, Luhan grins in a completely disarming way. He’s not aware Mark speaks the same language as him so tries to say he’s pleased to meet him, and then dives in for a hug.

A breath catches in Jackson’s throat. This really wasn’t supposed to be an awkward meeting. But Mark’s stiff and Bambam mumbles, “Awkward.” From across the room. Someone slaps him. Jackson thinks it’s Jinyoung.

The room falls so silent that Jackson’s sure his heartbeat echoes off the walls.

Amber less than gracefully drops the popcorn bowl down, trying to make a commotion.

“I’m so glad you fixed things. I’m really happy you’re -” Luhan stops, then turns to Jackson to ask to translate, but Mark responds in a quiet, “Happy I’m what?” In Mandarin. It’s one, small phrase, but Luhan latches onto it, taking Mark by the wrist and insisting they should get more snacks together.

“Jackson didn’t tell me you speak Mandarin!!” Luhan’s voice carries down the hallway.

The silence is back when they exit, and Amber pulls Jackson towards the bed. “C’mon, let them talk.”

The whole time they’re gone though, Jackson can’t take his eyes off the door.

When they do come back, Jackson stands. Yugyeom is definitely laughing at him. But Mark is smiling at Luhan and Jackson finally hears that Jinyoung has been insistently asking him where the remote for the television is.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

Coach Fitzpatrick is out of his element here, leaning against the ropes around the boxing ring, watching as Nessa wailes on his student. Jackson wishes that boxing were something Coach could do, because he’s getting the shit beat out of him and it really doesn’t feel good. Nessa is great but she doesn’t know his style, or his stamina, even though just last week she had looked surprised when Jackson said he was still rearing for another round.

Nessa squares up, plants her feet solidly and takes a good look at Jackson’s stance. “What’s wrong with your stance?” She asks, and Jackson drops his guard to inspect her, comparing it to his own. He widens his feet, straightens out his back, and Nessa grins. “You’re catching on quick.” She turns to Coach, “You’re lucky to have him, gramps.”

There’s such a resemblance between the two that Jackson had guessed their relationship the moment he’d laid eyes on Nessa’s features. It’s subtle, but very much there. Jackson’s known Coach for nearly his whole life now, but had only recently learned he had a daughter and a granddaughter only a few years younger than himself. Coach has never been the chatty type; keeps personal life and work life on two opposite ends, and sometimes comes off as intimidating.

Nessa beats on Jackson a little more, showing him proper technique and form and even lets him throw in a few swings. She straightens him by the shoulders, and has him face a punching bag while they wait for food to arrive.

Coach Fitzpatrick takes the stroll down a few blocks and back to stretch his legs and get them the lunch they ordered. Nessa holds the punching bag, telling Jackson he can go harder, “Put more force into it! I’m know you’re stronger than that!” Nessa is intimidating, she has _abs_ , she’s been boxing since she could walk, so Jackson’s not afraid to hurt her. He’s still trying to learn how to control his swing, how to harness the strength in his core and shift it in a way that’s so different from fencing; his natural form.

By the time Coach comes back, Jackson’s lying on the floor in a pool of his own sweat, wishing to evaporate. Nessa is standing over him, laughing. They go up a floor to where there’s a lounge area, and sit around at a desk near the window with a view of LA’s congested highway.

“You have amazing stamina.” Nessa shoves a forkful of salad into her mouth. “Grandpappy said you were good, but I didn’t realize how good.”

Hearing that he’s been complimented comes as a bit of a surprise. “I didn’t know Coach said I’m good.”

“Dude,” Nessa rolls her eyes, talking on as if Coach isn’t sitting right next to her. “Grandpappy _loves_ you.”

Coach clears his throat, sipping on ginger soda. He retains his usual composure, staring out the window.

“He’s not good at showing affection, I know, but don’t be fooled by this.” She gestures to her grandfather’s face, who still appears to be as unamused as ever. “He’s a good guy. Always lookin’ out for me.”

It doesn’t seem like too personal a moment, now matter how the words may sound, so Jackson just smiles at the two, glad he could share this moment with them. Coach Fitzpatrick is distant and stoic, but he’s always felt like family.

Across the room the door opens, and the guy from the reception table calls for Jackson, gesturing to Mark at his side.

Jackson feels a mess, his muscles are twitching and sweat is still rolling down his neck, his shirt plastered to his chest. The head band around his forehead is soaked. He feels a little self conscious, but only laughs when Mark makes a face and steps back, rethinking a hug.

“You’re gross.”

Nessa glances between the two, hiding a grin. “Who’s this?”

Jackson tries for Mark’s hand, but Mark is dodging that, too, saying he’s smelly. “My boyfriend, Mark.” It feels so good to say it. So good.

Nessa greets Mark with a handshake, and just as Mark’s turning to say hello to Coach, Jackson notices the way Coach sizes Mark up and down. Jackson’s sexuality has not once become a topic discussed between them, and he’d assumed everything is fine since it hasn’t been mentioned, and since his training hasn’t changed since the news, but he wonders now if meeting Mark will change Coach’s perspective. Even though Coach is neutral in all situations, Jackson wants his approval. It’s important.

Coach gets up, giving Mark a good, strong handshake. “It’s nice to meet you.” He says, and Mark holds out the tray of drinks he’s carrying.

“I wasn’t sure what you guys liked, so I brought a whole bunch of teas. If you don’t like it, it’s fine.” He places it down on the desk; there’s an organic green tea for Jackson, a black tea, an oolong, and a jasmine. Coach accepts the jasmine tea, and Nessa goes for the oolong, saying she’s never tried it.

Mark sits with them for a while, chatting, pouring sugar in Nessa’s tea until she deems it sweet enough, until Coach says, “Why don’t you go, Jackson? It’s a beautiful day out, you should spend time with your boyfriend.”

“It’s okay, I just stopped by to say hi, if you need to practice more -” Mark shakes his head, leaning back, but Coach Fitzpatrick leans over, placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder, and Mark and Jackson freeze. Nessa sips her tea, looking distraught as a frown carves into her grandfather’s face.

“If anyone - anyone - gives you two trouble for your relationship. Ever. Call me.”

There’s a tragedy behind his words. Jackson wants to ask but catches himself before he does.

 

  **\------------------------------------------------**

 

Bambam flails his arms, talking excitedly into the camera and trying to turn Jackson’s attention to it so he can be properly introduced. But Jackson can’t take his eyes off the pink eyeshadow dusted on Bambam’s lids, or the gold glitter lining his lower lash. His eyelashes feather out, bringing all the attention to the sharpness of his eyes and liner.

“Is that what you’re gonna do to me?” He asks, gesturing to the eye make-up and matte lips.

Bambam waves his hands again. “Is this what you want me to do?” He turns to the camera. “Oh my God, this is so exciting, I’m having an _Olympian_ on my channel.”

Jackson waves to the camera, then moves in closer. “Yeah, that’s what I want. Make me beautiful.”

“Okay, then take the cap off. It’s in the way.” They’re seated at the desk in Bambam and Yugyeom’s room, where the layout is awkward, the desk pushed away from the wall so they can work in natural lighting from the mid-afternoon sun. Behind them is the unmade bed, and the large rainbow flag that takes up most of the screen. The camera continues to record as Bambam uses clips to pin Jackson’s bleached hair back.

“Your hair is a lot softer now.” He comments.

“Jinyoung gave me some hair masks. It’s worked.” Jackson closes his eyes as a wipe is used on his face. Bambam tells him it’s to make sure his skin is clear, then rubs some moisturizer into his skin. Next, sun lotion is applied, and Bambam tells his viewers to always use sunscreen. Always. Unless they want to “prune early.”

Jackson laughs at that. “Prunes are good for the digestive system.”

“Oh, fuck no. Do you kiss Mark with prune breath?”

“I haven’t had any recently.”

“Athlete diets are so scary.”

“I miss pizza.”

“I fuckin’ _love_ pizza! Put pineapples on that shit. We love pineapples in this house.”

Filming for an audience that isn’t actually there yet is a lot easier than Jackson had anticipated, and Bambam is fun. He makes this easy. His hair is purple today, he looks like some sort of fairy princess with his sheer top, and isn’t afraid to attack with his blunt, painted nails.

“Stop fuckin’ moving oh my _gods_ or not even I, the god of cosmetics, will be able to make it work.”

“Please don’t make me uglier.”

“Who the _fuck_ said you’re ugly? You’re stupid handsome and if you think otherwise I’m sucker punching you in the throat. You’re so hot. And your _ass_ , dude - hold up, we’re putting a pause on this,” He pulls his hands away from Jackson’s primed-and-one-eyebrow-filled-in face. “Stand up for a sec.”

Jackson loves praise. Absolutely loves it. He’s enjoying it to the fullest as Bambam just waves his hands, presenting Jackson’s thighs and ass to the camera. “I know that my viewers loved Youngjae’s ass, but we have a new winner. Just look at this shit. Don’t you want to just, like, bury your face in it? I hope Mark’s jumped on that ass because there are _so many_ people out there that wish they had the same golden opportunity he does. Actually -” Bambam inhales, and Jackson covers his ears while Bambam bellows for Mark, stops and laughs, “I’m gonna have to put a sound warning here, for people with headphones,” and then screams again.

Mark comes flying, swinging the door open so hard that it comes back and nearly hits him in the face. “What?!”

“Jesus Christ you don’t have to make a hole in the wall -”

“Are you hurt?!” Jaebum comes crashing into Mark in the doorway, wearing pants that are backwards and very clearly not his. They’ve got Youngjae’s university logo. He looks disheveled.

“Is he dead?” Youngjae’s peeking around the corner, too, trying to flatten his hair and even out his breathing.

“Wow. Fuck you, too, Jae,”

“What’s happening?” Mark’s coming into the room, scanning for any physical signs of stress.

“Oh, the people want to know if you’ve eaten Jackson out yet.”

“ _He’s_ the people.” Jackson makes sure to make that much clear.

Jinyoung now stands in the doorway, curiously looking in to see if he’s needed. Jaebum hooks an arm around him, muttering, “We didn’t have to get dressed for this. Let’s go back to our room.”

The crowd disperses. Just Mark stands there, redder than the lipstick Bambam wears to shows.

“This - _this_ is why you called me?”

Bambam waggles his eyebrows and Jackson’s trying not to laugh, “Please don’t answer him.”

“Jinyoung-hyung told me to intervene.” Yugyeom, standing in the doorway, looks even taller and more broad-shouldered. He’s searching for the cause of alarm. “I guess I could use a break from my paper.”

“Your boyfriend is harassing mine.” Mark’s still smoking from the ears. He looks even shorter with Yugyeom at his side.

This is clearly not news to Yugyeom. He shrugs, gets close to give Bambam a kiss on the top of his head, and Jackson watches how quickly Bambam relaxes at his boyfriend’s smile. Wow, they’re cute. And if Bambam gets away with openly flirting and hitting on other guys (like Jackson in this case, even if it’s done in fun) they must have a lot of trust and respect between the two of them. Because even though Bambam can be dramatic and wildly extroverted, he always finds Yugyeom. Jackson has seen the way Bammie will dance up on a crowd, entertaining for fun and money, but the way the couple smile at each other even in the middle of it all is heartwarming. They act smitten like a fresh couple with the trust of an old one.

“Are you two even publicly out as a couple, yet?” Yugyeom asks after a few minutes. Bambam has dropped prying into MarkSon’s sex life (for now) and is working on filling in Jackson’s other brow. He stops, and pulls Jacksons attention on him, to show the sincerity in his eyes.

“Fuck. I forgot about that. I can edit out any and all parts where I mention you even having a boyfriend.”

Jackson shakes his head. “It’ll take a few days before this video is ready, right? I’ll talk to Mark and Yixing.”

“And Yixing…” Yugyeom mumbles, like he feels bad that Jackson has to report this.

“Yeah, totally, we can wait a few days, too.” Bambam twists to look up at Yugyeom. “Thanks for thinking of that.” He tips back in his chair and Yugyeom leans over for a kiss.

Yugyeom hangs around for a little, filming with them, accepting Bambam’s loving teasing in stride, and eventually announces that he has to finish up his paper.

“Take my card and order some food, my love. There’s a place nearby that delivers chocolate shakes.” Bambam leans over for another kiss, and then goes back to perfecting Jackson’s eyeliner.

“It’s okay, I can pay.”

“What? No. Get yourself something. On me. Good luck on your paper.”

 

After the camera is off and Bambam has nearly three hours of video to edit, Jackson is studying his face in the mirror and Bambam is putting his make-up away into drawers, things get serious. Bambam shows a side of him that Jackson’s not used to.

“If you don’t want to come out with your relationship, don’t.”

“Huh?”

“Mark and I have known each other since elementary school. He was two grades ahead of me, and Mark’s one of those kids that’s just _always_ been gay. I mean, like, I’ve always been gay, obviously, it’s not like this was a phase, even though I really really struggled on accepting myself.” It’s weird to think of Bambam as being insecure. “Mark’s just always taken everything in stride. And his parents are super open and accepting and his oldest sister is lesbian and he just… didn’t give a fuck if people cared or knew and I really, really envied him. Anyway, back then, I think he saw something in me that I didn’t, because I don’t even remember how we became friends. Mark and Jaebum have just always been there. They’re like, my brothers. And Mark’s dad is the dad I never got to have. So I’ve seen Mark through the dark times, I’ve seen him go through boyfriends - actually, I’ve seen boyfriends go through _him_. They never took the time to get to know him, and assume because he’s quiet he’s like, emotionless or some shit. But _you_ took the time to get to know him. He’s so happy now. This is the happiest I’ve seen him in a long, long time. And, I guess, what I’m trying to say is, don’t rush things. Move at your own pace. And I’m really happy that you’re back in his life - in all our lives. Be careful of the Internet, it’s a really shitty place. I almost gave Yugyeom up for all this.”

Bambam points to the thousands of dollars worth of make-up. The fancy umbrella light, the expensive camera and flashy Macbook. “Yuggy and I... we were friends for years before we started dating, and we weren’t together even a year when I started getting an actual following on YouTube, when suddenly, the Internet had opinions and thoughts on _my_ relationship as if it were their own. So then I started taking the comments to heart, and questioning things, and getting more hate than I was already used to, and I thought, for a while, me and Yuggy were going to break up. I thought I was gonna lose him. We were already really scared to make that switch from friends to boyfriends, we started dating before he was even out to his family, and I… I really fucked things up for a while. The Internet is really toxic and scary and they’ll ruin your relationship if given the chance. But Yuggy’s so self-less, and patient, and kind, and understanding, and pours his whole heart into loving me and has done nothing less for the past _three_ years that he _still_ gives me butterflies. I don’t know who’d I’d be without him.”

Bambam looks back at Jackson, stunning and poised, even with the way his shoulders sag from the weight of the memories. “I guess what I’m trying to say, is, be careful of the public and take things at your own pace. And thanks for giving Mark the love he deserves.”

Jackson’s chest balls up. “He means the world to me.”

“I know.” Bambam backs away, waving his hand in the air. “Okay, that’s enough of that. I swear to God if you cry and ruin the eyeliner I’m going to _murder_ you.”

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

Jackson faces Luhan, and the reporters make a huge deal of it. It’s the headlines, it trends on Twitter, and Jackson’s follower number increases with Chinese fans. Their friendship is well known and well-received. All comments about a possible romantic relationship ( _Can Jackson Wang’s GAY be TRANSFERRED?_ Is one of the headlines on some small, irrelevant blog) are scrolled right past and ignored. There’s not enough of the rumor going around for Yixing to be concerned.

Thinking of his manager, Jackson scans the crowd for him. Coach Fitzpatrick is patting his shoulders, giving him a good shake a quiet “You’ve got this.” Like he does before every match. This time he adds in, “Don’t go easy just because it's’ Luhan. You have a stronger friendship than that.”

Down on the opposite end of the arena is Yixing and Amber with Sophia and Rickey. And Mark. Behind them up in the stands is the rest of the gang; Bambam, Yugyeom, Jinyoung, Jaebum and Youngjae, easily spotted by Bambam’s fire-engine red hair. They’re waving a banner with WANG spelled across it, yelling his name. Knowing that they’re here fuels competition within the fencer. He’s been doing this for so long that matches don’t make him feel nervous anymore. He’s in his element up here on the mat, behind his mask. He forgets about the pressure, his parents expectations, and focuses on his own body and self, faced one-on-one in a world that feels apart from the rest. Having new guests and playing in his own hometown shift that world, bringing the two to overlap. Jackson isn’t sure how comfortable he is with it, but welcomes the change.

On the piste, Jackson and Luhan exchange high fives. They leave themselves behind in the locker room and only bring out their athletes here.

The director makes his announcement in French, and Jackson knows the words and pattern so well. His feet plant, he feels the recoil of his muscles, the weight of the suit, but Luhan’s fast. Faster than the last time they competed. He’s small, and he lunges so fast that Jackson doesn’t even have time to disengage. His fingers fail him. There’s the press of the saber on his side, and he stumbles.

0:1

This time he’s faster, his riposte quick, but not as lighting clean as Luhan. But here, Jackson feels light, bouncing on his feet, back and forth, back and forth, anticipating. Waiting. Feeling power and control ride through him like liquid.

When Luhan lunges again Jackson slides back a step, and uses that split second where Luhan’s gaze is down, following the tip of his saber, to attack. The buzzer goes off, and the sound of the crowd yelling comes flooding. He’s got his groove back. Attacking is his strong point, he’ll run another fencer off the mat, but Luhan’s skill is similar and he’s faster. Jackson doesn’t let it deter him, and he scores point, then the next, in a second, barreling towards Luhan in a way that makes his form seem more intimidating. Luhan evades though. Fast. Jackson only knows a score is granted because he hears the buzzer.

2:2

Playing Luhan is frustrating. He’s _good_. He’s quick. He’s small and hard to hit. But Jackson wins by one. One, close point that he barely, barely got with the tip and quickest flick of his fingers and wrist. He headbutts Luhan’s mask with his own, but is pulled away too quick by Coach to be able to really say anything just yet. He takes off his helmet and waves it in the air, running over to his friends and parents on the side. He shouts over to the rest in the stands, spinning around to face Mark. There are stars in Mark’s eyes, and he’s gripping onto the fencing uniform, trying to hold Jackson down for a hug.

“You’re _amazing_.” Mark’s grinning the widest Jackson can ever remember. It pulls him back down, far enough that’s he’s grounded, hooking an arm around Mark, pulling him in, wanting nothing more than to kiss him and ride this high.

Until a reporter comes in his face and he lets Mark go, Yixing moving to block and protect Mark from the spotlight.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

Things are a lot easier at two in the morning, when the highway is clear and open.

“What was the final breaking point for you?” Jackson asks, gripping the steering wheel of his Subie. Amber and Sunyoung are sitting in the backseat, leaning against each other and having a private moment before Sunyoung has to fly back to Cambridge. Amber is serenading her girlfriend with some Green Day song playing from the 90’s music radio station, and the question slices through the moment.

But the question is vague and pulled out from Jackson’s thoughts without preamble, so he tries to quickly get his own thoughts together, feeling the couple stare at the back of his head.

“I mean, like, to come out publicly? With your relationship?”

“Woah.” Sunyoung leans forward to put her hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “You’ve barely been dating a month. You’ve been out of the closet for, like,” she glances at her girlfriend for help, and Amber shrugs. “Like, four or five months?”

“Is it… too soon?”

“I mean.” And then nothing. Amber is leaning way forward, halfway up in the front seat. “I don’t know. But I was out for like, over a year before I even mentioned having a girlfriend.”

The GPS tells them to bear right. There’s twenty minutes to go. This isn’t a decision that can be made in twenty minutes and Jackson feels selfish, seeing their concerned expressions in the rear-view mirror. The couple will be apart for the rest of the semester and here he is, taking up their time. He knows his worst quality is that he always wants attention, and sometimes won’t think twice about pulling everyone on him. He’s doing it now.

Amber wants to talk about it more, but Jackson shrugs them off. Lies that he’s fine. But he was there for this, he was the reason Amber came out publicly. She couldn’t handle the stress put on her from the rumors that surrounded her and Jackson’s name. Amber and Sunyoung have known each other a long time, but hadn’t interacted until Sunyoung got a part-time job at the cafe shop near Amber’s house in high school. Their friendship blossomed there and for years, Jackson swore on his life that Sunyoung had just as much of a crush on Amber as Amber had on her.

They had spent months having Friday and Saturday brunch at this place just so Amber could be “breathing the same air!!” as her crush. She’d been completely devastated when her favorite barista said she was moving across the country for school. But with a (colossal) push from Jackson, Sunyoung shared her social media handle. Jackson had sent the first message (and a few sweet ones in between the initial one and the “can I call you? It’s important” text when Amber got the guts to ask Sunyoung out) they dated privately for months. They came out with their relationship at almost a year in, on Amber’s Instagram. It’s been three strong years since.

Not wanting to interrupt their last few minutes together, Jackson says his goodbyes in the parking lot, next to the car. He squeezes Sunyoung until she’s able to contain her tears. She wishes him luck in life and his relationship. While Amber goes in to see her off in the airport, Jackson finds Amber’s old post and stares at it. It’s just a photo of them on an airplane, Sunyoung leaning against Amber’s shoulder, the caption reading, “Mini vacation with my girl!!!” like everyone already knew who she was.

Easy peasy.

On the way back they talk about it. Amber talks about how she and Sunyoung talked in circles about this. How they exhausted it. How they went two weeks without even sending a single message to each other, reconsidering _them._

“It’s gonna really fuckin’ suck.” When ten minutes ago he was thinking, ‘easy-peasy.’ “ You should be talking to Mark, not me.”

“I just don’t…” Jackson speeds up, flying down the interstate. “I don’t want to make it a _thing_. I don’t want to have to worry about it. But I want to be able to post our life together, like a normal couple.”

“You _are_ a normal couple.” Amber insists, shooting him a dark glare. “So you guys should do what’s better for you. Personally, I think you should hold off. The media companies are still having a field day with you coming out as gay, especially since you aren’t really addressing it and just sort of glossing over it.”

“It’s just annoying that it’s such a big deal. Straight people don’t have to come out as straight. Why do I have to have a fuckin’ press conference over being gay? Like, yes, hello world. I enjoy stabbing other men with my saber if you know what I mean.”

Amber shrugs at that, and at least has the decency to try and force back a laugh to keep the tone serious. “I played right into all the propaganda. Maybe it’s better you do it this way.”

“I don’t know what way I’m doing it.”

“Your own way.”

This feels a lot like the advice Mark gave him, months ago, when he said “be honest with yourself.”

Which is great advice, except for Jackson still doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to be honest about.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

Jackson asks Bambam to edit out all the moments where Mark is mentioned.

“But not the ones where you or I mention a boyfriend?”

“Those you can leave. Unless. You don’t want some weird gossip column attacking your channel for using me for views.”

“Oh,” Bambam pauses to call out over his shoulder. Jackson feels bad for calling when he’s at work - or, his other job, considering YouTube is a paying thing - where he’s helping out his family’s Thai restaurant. But Bambam insist it’s fine. He says he’s manning the stove anyway. “Let them come at me. I don’t give a fuck. You and I are friends and I wanted to make a video with my _friend_. My viewers love it when the rest of the gang gets featured, so your gossip mags can eat me out. Let them accuse me of some dumbass shit that ain’t real.”

It seems these types of heart-to-heart conversations with Bambam are becoming more frequent. When they’d first met, Jackson thought Bambam’s personality consisted of everything flashy and fake shown on the outside. This compassionate side of Bambam feels almost like a secret held only for those that are close to him. Jackson doesn’t know how to express his gratitude for the Thai boy’s existence in his life.

“Listen, you’re real. Queens can be slimy - it’s a fuckin’ competition out there and I have a lot of enemies, the girls hate me because I’ve built a reputation so fast. Everyone who ever said that the queer community is open minded and totally accepting can fuckin’ pay me. I’d make so much money I wouldn’t need a channel.” Bambam calls out in Thai over his shoulder, then comes back, his tone still full of bite, “I _like_ you. I want you around. You’re all good vibes ‘n shit and just - great. You’re great. Like, your personality, not just your ass.”

Jackson smiles at that.

“So, I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks, Bambam. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Just tell me you love me and we’re good.”

The grin that’s split across Jackson’s face is almost painful. “Love you lots.”

“I love me lots, too.” Bambam laughs. Jackson can imagine his smile. His real one, where his face scrunches up and he shows all his teeth and looks so many years younger. “Hey, insider tip: Mark’s got the first week of November off. Like, Sunday through Monday. A whole nine days.” He shouts in Thai while Jackson tries to remember where they are in the month of October. “Okay, now I gotta go. Bye-bye.”

“Bye, Bam.”

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

On Halloween, Jackson closes the gates entering the driveway to deter trick-or-treaters, locks the door to his parents room, and spends all day with Luhan and Yixing decorating the house. They put up fake cobwebs and throw plastic spiders all over the floor, cover the arch ways in black webs and orange fairy lights. Everything gets covered in orange and black tablecloths and blankets, and styrofoam bats hang from the ceiling. Once the first floor of the house looks like a creepy liar, Jackson feels satisfied. His mother and father have spent most of the day in the kitchen, working on snacks and food. Sophia watches the decorations go up with a frown on her face, probably thinking of clean up, and Jackson thinks she and Jinyoung would get along great.

Towards the end of the afternoon, Jackson hears Luhan screaming over a bug. It’s one of the fake cockroaches. “ _I_ put that there.” He hears Luhan mumble, who then stalks through the living room and upstairs.

Mark shows up early while the sun is still up, his stuff in a bag over his shoulder and falls right into Jackson’s arms for a kiss. A few days ago his hair had been a faded red but it’s back to blond, a fake hair bun not clipped in properly and sideways, in preparation for their couples’ costume. Jackson’s sure they’re going to win the competition; Peter Pan and Tinkerbell. Bambam had helped them pull together the costumes and Mark’s going to look cute as hell in a green and white tutu.

But when the rest of the group shows up, Jackson doubts victory. Amber looks incredible in her The Killing Joke’s Joker outfit, her makeup smudged and wild, a top hat small and askew on her head, held in place with clips. Yixing is a pirate with a bottle of a rum (Mark helped him with the smudged eyeliner and he looks hot in boots.) Luhan’s costume is the most simple DIY: he’s a shirtless lifeguard in red swim trunks borrowed from Jackson’s closet, and his abs and overall toned physique will undoubtedly break some necks and give him brownie points on the votes. The whistle around his neck is plastic and from the dollar store.

Around the time Sophia’s done making lasagna - which Jackson insisted wasn’t Halloween party food but she’d really wanted to make it anyway - a few more people come in. Nessa shows up in a Wonder Woman costume, and a few other of Jackson’s teammates are here. Sarah is dressed in a nurse costume that’s so plain it had to have been bought at Party City.

Bambam, fashioned in a long, faux dalmatian coat, half his long wig white and other black, waves his fake pipe at Luhan. “This isn’t fair.”

Mark is slipping on a pair of glittery gold flats. His makeup is basic, mostly highlight and contour, the focal point being the long, fluttery eyelashes and green gems adorned around his eyes. “Yeah, Jacks and I are trying to win this. Your abs are in the way.”

Amber translates, and Luhan just laughs.

Jinyoung, Yugyeom and Youngjae come into the house after work and class, and Jaebum had to call in some favors to get his shift at the bar covered because they’d been planning a group costume, and because he’d told Jackson that he wouldn’t want to miss a party at his house. The three are all in black pants, spotted shirts and black noses painted on their faces. Jaebum walks in after them, in the same get up, carrying headbands with fake, spotted dog ears.

Jackson feels betrayed that he wasn’t invited into this idea.

Amber throws her arms in the air, “Cruella and her dalmations. We should’ve all done that. Time to go home, the rest of us lost.”

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

Jackson’s a few drinks in, avoiding Yixing who’s clearly counting for him, trying to fix his little Peter Pan hat, just now realizing how annoying tights are, when he comes face to face with a man he doesn’t know. The man grins at him, introduces himself as Raymond and realization dawns so fast on Jackson that he sputters gross pumpkin ale all over himself.

Raymond is Mark’s dad’s name, and the way he smiles reveals that he’s exactly who Jackson suspects he is.

Tinkerbell comes up and hooks an arm with Raymond, who’s dressed as a baseball player.

“Um, Jacks?” Mark looks sheepish. “This is my dad. Dad, this is Jackson.”

“Oh, uhm,” Jackson grips his hand in a steady handshake. First impressions are important and he has to nail this. But he’s buzzed and the bats hanging from the ceiling look like they’re swaying. They very well could be. “It’s great to meet you.”

“Jackson Wang. I know who you are.” Raymond won’t get rid of that smile. “Olympic Fencer. My son’s boyfriend. It’s an honor. C’mon, I want you to meet everyone else.”

There are a flurry of names being thrown at him, and people in costumes that Jackson prays he’ll be able to recognize out of makeup. He wishes he’d been more prepared. Mark pulls him to the side for a second, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this is why they wanted to know where I am. I didn’t realize they were going to -”

It just feels like the right thing to do. Jackson leans forward, kissing Mark’s shimmery lips, not giving a single fuck that all the Tuan’s are standing right there. Judging by the way Mark’s eyes glitter when Jackson pulls away, it was a good idea.

“This is the cutest couples outfit.” Mark’s Flapper Girl sister - shit, Tammy? Grace? - is patting the bun on her brother’s head. “You could give the Tinkerbell and Peter Pan at Disney a run for their money.”

Mostly because of Mark’s family, Jackson stops drinking. He wants to be sober and not make an ass of himself in front of them. Even when they let him go so he can mingle about, assuring him that it’s fine because he’s the host, he stays far away from the alcohol. When Amber hears who they are, she shoves loaded potato skins into Jackson’s mouth, telling him to sober up faster.

This is such a monumental moment in their relationship and Jackson did it in green tights. How embarrassing.

He rushes off to get a tray of food, bringing it back outside near the pool, where Tinkerbell is with his family, and his niece is sitting on the edge of the pool, feet splashing in the water with Youngjae the Dalmatian holding her, keeping her from jumping in. And Jackson’s parents are there. And Raymond is shaking Ricky’s hand and Mark is standing to the side, stiff, his wings fluttering in the nighttime breeze.

Jackson trips over his feet, shoving the tray between their fathers. His father and Mark’s father are talking with one another and Raymond reaches out to clap a friendly hand on Ricky’s shoulder and Jackson’s going to _stop breathing -_

“Food?” He insists, glancing wildly at Mark, who looks the most uncomposed Jackson’s ever seen him. He looks like he’s one second away from running.

Raymond accepts the pigs in a blanket that are dribbled in ketchup. It’s supposed to look like blood. “We’ve never met any of Mark’s exes.” He says, and Jackson’s stomach lurches into his throat. “You have no idea how amazing this is! I’m glad I get to meet you,” He smiles at Jackson, then turns to Ricky. “I’m so glad I get to meet you, too.”

Ricky returns the sentiment and Mark, from the distance, by the pool with his niece and Youngjae, waves his hands around like, _what are they saying?!_

They’re mostly through the night and Tammy (who is indeed the flapper girl) says she needs to take her daughter home to bed. Jinyoung is here now, holding her, and Youngjae fixes the dog ears that are sliding off his boyfriend’s head.

Since Yixing has backed off of what Jackson consumes, Jackson goes completely off the diet and eats his feelings. He’s eaten so much that he’s not going to get up in the morning, but at least he’s feeling much more sober, sipping on water and seltzer, doing his very best to mingle with Mark’s family without tripping over himself. Or stuttering. Or saying something stupid - which would be very on brand, if he did. But something dawns on Jackson so hard that he sways, as if the alcohol came and flooded his system again.

“You told your family we’re together.”

“Uh. Yes?” Mark is much more relaxed now, but still eyeing their mothers who chat amongst themselves, still sitting on the edge of the bench, as if ready to bolt.

“You told them we’re official.”

Mark isn’t getting it, and he’s turned towards Jackson looking ready to run. “Was I not supposed to?”

And it’s warm. Everything’s warm. Raymond had said, only an hour or so ago, that Mark’s never brought his exes home. But he told his family that he and Jackson are dating. It stirs something in Jackson’s stomach.

“I’m happy you did.”

From the middle of his chest to Mark’s soft breath as he leans in to kiss him, Jackson feels delight swirl in his stomach and calm the chaos from the night. Jinyoung cheers for them, and the feeling of their families looking at them weighs down heavy, but not horribly. Mark pulls back with a smile, shy but Jackson leans back in and kisses him sweetly in front of their families, tangling their fingers together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have s o mUch fun with jb and bambam's characters ((in case that isn't totally obvious))
> 
> also....... who wants to do a couple costume with me LOL that's relationship goals


	5. Forever

Jackson’s scrolling through his tagged photos on Instagram, through the photos from Halloween, and his fans are having a field day with the couples costume. He had posted a photo, too, of him as Peter Pan and Mark as Tinkerbell from some time before the party started. They’re outside with the pool in the background, standing side by side. There are more photos saved from that night, but he likes this specific one because it’s cute and shows off how playful their relationship can get, without being blatant that they’re romantically involved. He’s puffing out his chest and Mark’s leaning over him, fake wand pointed at his chest. with goofy grins on their faces, both boys looking at the camera.

This is when Jackson realizes, the public doesn’t need to know. Not yet. Because even though he’s happy, it’s been a rough road traveled and he needs some reprieve. He needs to focus on _them_ before he even thinks of everyone else. Once he’s out with this relationship, it puts Mark in the spotlight, and they’re not ready to handle that. Not yet. But Jackson’s confident that one day, they will be.

He’s taken this to Sunyoung before, and she said it was more difficult in the beginning, while she was studying, and the timing had been too inconvenient and piling social media on top of studies caused an overwhelming amount of stress. Jackson isn’t trying to put anything on Mark if he’s not ready. He’s not trying to let others in when he and Mark haven’t fully settled yet. One hurdle at a time.

Mark comes into the room then and drops down on the sheets, curling right into Jackson’s side to rest his head on Jackson’s bare chest. It’s late in the evening, and he’s washed the smell of toothpaste from his skin for the last time before vacation.

“So now that you’re officially on vacation.” Jackson starts, nervousness rising. “I was thinking we could do something that’s not just watching Scrubs re-runs.”

“Who told you I’m on vacation this week?”

“Bam.”

Mark just rolls his eyes, settling back on Jackson’s chest. His fingers run over the ridges of Jackson’s stomach.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” This is so comfortable, the two of them, lying half-naked in bed after a long day, curtains drawn closed and door shut. They’ve been busy with their own things; Mark working over-time, and Jackson working a weekend in Chicago on a commercial. His flight landed only hours ago, and he’d gone home long enough to say hi to his mom and dad and pack a suitcase for vacation. Mark isn’t aware of the plans that have been made. Jackson anticipates it being a good surprise.

“Because I know you have practice and other Olympian duties.” Mark says, his hand stopping near Jackson’s belly button. “ _Olympian_.” He mumbles like he still can’t believe it.

“Well, this week I don’t.” He’d pulled all the strings he could to clear up his schedule and make sure Mark’s is clear, too.

Mark lifts his head to look Jackson in the eyes. “You can just take time off like that?”

“I just won the tournament. I’m making it into the next round but that’s not for another three weeks and I’ve already filmed the commercial for that app. I’ll be fine.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Jackson grins.

They leave at seven on the dot.

And get stuck in traffic. Figures.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

They have to pull over twice for bathroom breaks and to switch drivers. They drive with the windows down, playing old songs, playing new songs, which includes screaming on the top of their lungs to Ariana Grande’s newest album. Jackson doesn’t think of how it takes almost six hours to drive to Las Vegas, or how much it sucks that they get caught in a rainstorm. This drive is grounding them together. Finally settling down into _boyfriends._

Mark mentions that night — _that_ night. The night where Jackson’s aggression had consumed him. Mark brings it up with confidence, one hand on the steering wheel and one in Jackson’s lap, holding their hands together.

“If we’re gonna keep doing that stuff —”

“And you’re fine with that? Fuck, I was freaking out the next day. And like, even more days after that.”

“You really looked like you needed it.” Mark’s eyes flicker to Jackson’s, doing his best to convey sincerity without actually taking his eyes off the road. “And I didn’t mind — I _don’t_ mind. I love when you’re rough with me. No one’s ever been so good to me in bed. Sex with my exes wasn’t like this. Even when you’re being rough, I trust you one-hundred percent.”

They’re at a place where they can talk about this and Jackson isn’t embarrassed. He also doesn’t feel shy, or suddenly aroused, like some teenager that’s new to the idea of anything remotely sexual and can’t maturely handle this type of thing. He’s rather excited knowing that they can be serious and openly communicate. Lack of communication has fucked them before. It’s not going to happen again.

“Where’s the line, though?”

Mark shrugs, leaning back in the seat. He’d complained that Jackson drives with the seat too forward, while Jackson thinks it’s ridiculous that Mark’s almost lying down to drive. His forearm looks good like this, stretched out with the streetlights dancing across the ridge of muscle. He’s been working out.

“I’m not sure? I’ve never done this stuff before. But… when you grabbed my jaw? And told me to be patient?” Mark squeezes Jackson’s hand. “I swear to God my soul left my body,. I’ve never been so fuckin’ turned on.”

The GPS beeps when they enter Nevada. Jackson kisses each of Mark’s knuckles.

“I’m down to try stuff. As long as we keep talking about it. I like when you take control, too.”

“Are we traveling into needing a safe-word territory?” It’s a very important question, and Jackson doesn’t have an answer. He stares out into the road ahead, up at the glittering sky, but Mark’s rolling right into the next question, “By the way, are you clean? Because I haven’t fucked around with anyone else since you and I started, and I’d been tested before that.”

Now they’re moving a little too fast and Jackson’s losing his words. “Uh. Wait, yeah, I’m clean. Yixing not-so-subtly told me to get checked.”

“Should we get toys, too?”

Well, that’s it. There goes Jackson heart and soul, out the window, left tumbling behind in the desert.

“Cactus.”

Mark spares him a glance, then another, then a very, very, careful and confused. “Huh?”

Jackson jabs his finger over his shoulder, crushes it against the half-open window, and is still too whiplashed to really feel the pain. “There are cactuses in the desert.”

“I think it’s cacti.”

After a few seconds the GPS tells them there’s a mile until their exit. Mark switches lanes, giving Jackson another good, hard look. But Jackson can only imagine how shell-shocked he must look, since his mouth his still hanging open and the window is whipping his hair, stabbing him in the eye repeatedly. But he makes no move to close the window.

“Oh.” Mark laughs, loud and happy. Jackson files the sound away for later. “Babe. I was talking about toys and you said cactus and I was… I was so _confused_.”

Right, because Jackson’s still on the first question regarding a safe word.

He changes his attention to the road in front of them, and now he’s feeling the embarrassment. His cheeks get hot and he’s feeling it seep down through his body. The desert is cool at night, but does nothing to soothe the burn that Jackson’s feeling down his throat. He wants to talk more about this, ask how rough, exactly, can he get, and exactly _how_ rough is Mark willing to go?

But he’s needed back in the moment, the two of them figuring out unfamiliar city streets to find their hotel.

The valet does a double take when they pull in, but thankfully says nothing if he does recognize Jackson. He’s probably used to seeing celebrities.

Jackson hadn’t believed the photos when he saw how fair the pricing is per night, but the inside is everything it’s played up to be online. The carpet is deep red and stunning gold, clean and cared for. The staff is kind and escorts their guests to their rooms.

The first thing Mark does is go to the glass doors leading to the balcony, pushing the curtains open to get a view from the ninth floor. Las Vegas is alive at one in the morning. There are cars in the street, small dots of people crowding the streets, and lights flash from other buildings, illuminating the night. Jackson comes up behind him to wrap two arms around his tiny waist. He leans against his boyfriend, closes his eyes and pulls him backwards towards the bed.

“We should sleep and get up early.”

“There’s stuff to do in Las Vegas in the morning?”

Jackson really doesn’t know. “I dunno, we can Google it.” He’s holding his hurt finger, the pain of jarring it against the window is finally coming through now that he’s back on this plane of existence. He doesn’t think much of it when Mark reaches for him, bringing the finger to his lips to press a soft kiss on it.

Once he starts moving down Jackson’s hand, placing kisses against the soft skin of his forearm, and in the crook of his elbow, Jackson stops to watch. Mark’s eyes are closed, his lips sweet and gentle up Jackson’s arm. He stops at Jackson’s chest, and moves up. One kiss at a time, getting firmer as the trails up Jackson’s neck, along his jaw, leaving Jackson buzzing under the skin.

Their eyes meet, Mark’s dark already, and Jackson feels that in his gut.

“We’ve been here like, two seconds.”

Mark gets close, gets right up in Jackson’s space, hooking two arms around his neck. And it’s not like Jackson wants to stop, so he helps lead this further by letting his hands sit on Mark’s hips. He dips in for a kiss, smiling when Mark makes a quiet noise against his mouth.

“Can we just, like,” Mark dives in for another kiss, more forceful, leading Jackson a few steps back. “Make out for a bit?”

Jackson hoists Mark up, holding him up with his hands on his ass, and Mark ruts forward against his waist, gripping his shirt.

“Fuck you. Take it slower..”

So Jackson drops Mark on the bed, gentle, and doesn’t disconnect their lips while moving over him. He slows down their kisses, dragging them out and tasting. He traces Mark’s lips with his tongue, nips at him, and makes it messy. Their lips slide, their tongues dipping into each other’s mouths. Mark rolls them over so he’s on top, and with this new position he can bury his fingers in Jackson’s hair, whisper about how soft it is, and Jackson can run his hands up and down Mark’s back, he can count the knobs of Mark’s spine through his threadbare shirt. He can scratch at the small hairs on Mark’s neck, a spot that makes him shiver and hum, _satisfied._

Which is exactly how Jackson would describe the emotion sitting in his gut in this moment. He could kiss Mark until the sun comes up, he could lie here until lunch, letting his thumbs slide under Mark’s shirt to brush against his skin. They’ve got nowhere else to be.

Eventually, Mark trails down Jackson’s neck, but stays there for a little while, licking and nipping, trying to find Jackson’s favorite spot. He makes his way up to Jackson’s ears, leaving behind Jackson’s wet pulse, to catch Jackson’s earlobe in his teeth. And Jackson groans, letting his head fall to the side.

When Mark’s legs fall around Jackson’s, Mark straddling the bulkier man, the mood shifts. Jackson gives in and reaches down to palm Mark’s ass through his jeans, and Mark groans. Heat rises in Jackson’s stomach, he’s started to feel impatient, and satisfied is no longer a word he’d use to explain how he feels. He wants more. He wants Mark’s pants off.

“Should I turn the lights off?” Jackson murmurs, hoisting himself up on his elbows so he can pull on Mark’s belt and get the point across.

“No. I want them on. And your clothes off.” Mark works on pulling Jackson’s shirt off, tugs on the string of his sweatpants, but is back to straddling his boyfriend, pushing back on the bed. Jackson lets his arms fall to the sides, relishing in the way Mark takes him in.

“I’ll never get tired of this view.” Mark mumbles, hands running down Jackson’s tight chest. He gets off for a second, undressing them both fully, and stepping aside to reach into his backpack. Front pocket has the condoms and lube. Mark only comes back with the lube, and reads the look on Jackson’s face very quickly. “This is why I asked if you’re clean.” He arches down, cupping the back of Jackson’s head to kiss him, fully, on the lips. Jackson feels dizzy.

“I’m totally fine with this.”

Mark breathes into his mouth, tugs on his lip with his teeth and Jackson groans, long and drawn out, as Mark tweaks his nipple.

“Yeah, I want you to cum in me.”

Jackson jolts. “Holy _fuck_.” Jackson grabs Mark’s small hips and grips him, flipping them over. He feels a surge of possessiveness and isn’t trying to take this slow anymore, and knows that Mark likes it. Mark responds just as eagerly, uncapping the lube and shoving it into Jackson’s hand. There’s a second where he fumbles, but Mark’s spreading his legs, moaning into open mouth kisses, wanton and needy and Jackson can’t move fast enough. He pushes a wet finger in, rough and quick, and is met with no quarrels. He works fast, sucking on Mark’s neck, sliding in a second finger when it’s okay to. This time Mark resists a bit, wincing and breathing heavily, brokenly. Jackson listens, but knows that it isn’t enough to deter him. He’s learning what Mark wants, and he knows that Mark will voice it if he doesn’t like something. The harder Mark breathes, the closer he’s getting.

The third finger is the easiest, and Jackson fucks Mark with his fingers until Mark’s sweating, rolling his hips and whining that it’s not enough. But Jackson doesn’t listen to him, he keeps moving his hand, feeling the burn in his arm, teasing, twisting and scissoring his fingers. He works Mark open, knuckle-deep, twisting his fingers and curling them until Mark’s gaze is hazy and his mouth is open, panting.

When he finally pulls out, Mark is reaching for the lube again, taking it upon himself to lather Jackson’s dick up. Once he’s satisfied he leans back against the sheets; spreads his legs. And the sight makes Jackson choke.

His chest heaves, and Jackson pushes forward, hands on Mark’s knees, keeping him open. The first push is slow. It feels good. They’ve always used thin condoms, but this feels. Intimate. Moreso. Mark pants, arms uselessly spread out at his sides.

Jackson feels how tight Mark is, feels all the ridges of his insides close and pull him in, begging for more.

He pulls back, grips Mark’s legs and slams forward, groaning just as the headboard of the bed cracks against the wall.

Both of them grab for it, Jackson wincing and Mark using a hand to cover the bark of laughter coming out of his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,”

“I hope there’s no one in that room.”

Mark trails his fingers down Jackson’s biceps. “By the way, we’re totally keeping cactus as our safe word.”

Jackson nearly gawks at him. “You have to make fun of me _now?_ With my dick in your ass?”

Mark’s Cheshire grin is really hot but Jackson’s valiantly fighting off those thoughts.

“You’re an asshole.” He concludes. “I’m gonna get off you and leave you blue-balled.”

“We both know you’re not gonna do that.” Mark curls his hand around Jackson’s neck and Jackson doesn’t even try to fight him, leaning down for a kiss. “You’re gonna fuck me with your thick cock and leave me sore for days.”

Jackson’s arms nearly give out. What the fuck.

Now, moving much slower, Jackson thrusts and tries to ignore how Mark makes a small noise underneath him. But the bed creaks, and when Jackson pushes forward again, the headboard bangs against the wall. Jackson lunges for it, trying to hold it in place but Mark is covering his face and laughing,

“This is the worst.” He doesn’t sound like he means it.

“I hate you.” Jackson grumbles. Mark only laughs harder, his eyes curved into pretty little crescents.

“C’mon,” Mark taps his hip, “Lemme get in your lap.”

Jackson falls over gracelessly. The mood is a little lesser. A little lighter. But he grins when Mark cranes in for a sloppy kiss while they switch positions. He grabs Mark’s face and pulls him in for another kiss, appreciating the sweetness of the moment.

Jackson sits against the headboard and Mark gets in his lap, positioning himself, refusing any help. He sinks down slowly, humming contentedly. Arousal settles back in Jackson’s bones, feeling Mark tighten around him again, sitting flush in his lap.

At first he’s slow, using Jackson’s shoulders for purchase, rolling his hips and that’s all Jackson needs for him to sink back into it. He drops his head back, breathing in, deeply, letting out his breath as Mark sinks back down on him.

This position feels good, intimate, and Jackson leans forward to kiss Mark, wrap around him so their chests push together. They feel less rushed now, falling into a rhythm, wrapped around — in, each other. Mark moans against Jackson’s neck, but can’t keep up with the strain this hunched position puts on his back for much longer, he leans away instead. It’s a better angle for him, and Jackson blushes at how close they are, their noses brushing as Mark continues riding his dick, up and down in a steady pace. So they can _feel_ each other, every ridge, every heavy pulse of arousal. Mark’s erection traces against Jackson’s abs, smearing precum, and Mark leans into it. Jackson doesn’t complain. He watches Mark rub against him, and watches how he fills Mark up.

With the light and proximity, Jackson notices the way Mark’s eyes are golden in the light, and can’t take it his gaze away. Mark’s hips stutter, and one hand cards through his hair.

“You’re looking at me like that again.” The bed is still squeaking, but it’s not as loud.

Jackson leans forward to kiss Mark’s chin. “Yeah,” Is the best response he has, even though it doesn’t totally make sense. His eyes flutter close, and he presses his forehead against Mark’s sweaty shoulder, licking at salty skin. His hands follow Mark’s hips, and he drowns in this. Listens to them, slick and wet and panting for air, noises filling the room.

Mark starts to get more desperate. Jackson feels it in the swivel of his hips and the way he’s being clenched and pulled in. He helps, thrusting up, unable to just let Mark do it on his own and his thrusts up so Mark’s bouncing in his lap, moans getting louder. Jackson’s stomach is getting wetter where he’s still being rubbed against.

“Want you…” Mark’s hands are sliding down Jackson’s arms, losing grip. “Want you to cum in me, want you to fill me up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackson guides now, holding on tight to Mark’s hips. He’s there, he’s getting closer, feeling the buildup in his balls, deep in his gut, and Mark sits on his dick. Stops riding him to instead grind in stuttered motions against him. “You feel so fuckin’ good.” Jackson can’t help but shallowly thrust. Mark responds positively, arches, and he comes.

It doesn’t take much more for Jackson to follow through, feeling how tight and hot Mark spasms around him, and he releases with a bite to Mark’s shoulder, holding him down and closing his eyes. Neither of them move for a moment, Jackson’s dick softening and Mark leans forward, pressing open mouth kisses on Jackson’s lips, taking the moment to try and catch their breaths, too. When Mark makes the move to get off, everything feels cold without him.

Jackson takes a second to look his boyfriend over; Mark’s thighs are red, his neck spotted with fading hickies, and he’s dripping from his hole, dirtying the sheets with lube and spunk. Jackson places a hand on his chest to feel the flutter of his heart.

“Was that okay?”

“Yes, babe. I feel so gross. But in a good way.”

They take a shower together and Mark litters Jackson with kisses while he works to clean him out. They blow-dry each other’s hair and rid the bed of the comforter, opting to sleep under just the sheets instead. Mark collapses in bed, rolling to the middle, watching curiously as Jackson makes it to the foot of the bed, leans over to hook his hands under the frame, and pulls. Pull it at least a foot away from the wall. In preparation for tomorrow.

Mark tugs Jackson into bed, presses their naked bodies together and buries his face in Jackson’s chest.

Jackson holds on tight.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

 

Mark is tapping his thumbnail against his cell phone screen, fixing Jackson with a deadpan expression, swiveling his phone so Jackson can see what he’s trying to point at.

“ _Four_ dollar signs on Yelp.”

Well, if Jackson’s not getting an overwhelming sense of déjà-vu.

“If you say one more thing about dollar signs I’m gonna crush your phone with my bare hands.”

After a pause, where Mark’s expression barely changes, he asks in a lower tone, “Can you do actually do that?”

“Jesus Christ,” Jackson snatches Mark’s phone, maybe using his strength a little more than necessary because he knows it’s appreciated, and puts it face-down on the table. “Will you just order?”

Mark looks defiant for a second longer, but then lifts the menu with a huff. “Okay, but we’re getting wine.”

“I cry when I get wine-drunk. I get, like, way too emotional.”

“Oh really?” Their eyes peer over the menus, and Mark’s wearing a look that projects what he’s thinking. _Let’s get you wine drunk._

“I’m not crying on our date. I’m not getting drunk. I’m _not._ ”

 

Jackson gets drunk.

And cue another overwhelming sense of deja-vu.

He proves to be every bit the emotional wreck he’s promised he is. He cries over the lobster, _“Did it live a good life?”_ He cries when he doesn’t hit the jackpot at the casino, and Mark, who’s also pretty smashed but still fairly in control of his limbs, manages to trudge the two of them down the strip. The lights are bright and people still amble around as if it weren’t already past midnight. No one has plans of heading inside, but tie together the booze and heat and Jackson’s weight around his shoulders, Mark hauls Jackson back to the hotel room because he’s too exhausted to stay out.

The room feels comfortably cool, Mark fights with Jackson to get him to brush his teeth, and they shuck off their clothes and lie in bed in their boxers, Jackson fighting for the blankets. He wins, of course.

As the room spins and the sounds of a million slot machines ring in Mark’s ears, Jackson gets comfortable in his blanket roll, and after a few moments, wherein the dinging of slot machines fade from Mark’s ears, Jackson starts crying. It’s very soft, like he doesn’t want to be heard. Mark rolls him over and digs through the blanket to find Jackson’s tear-stained face.

“I don’t deserve you.”

With a careful shake of his head, Mark leans against Jackson’s chest. Moving to a new position makes the room spin all over. “Why would you say that?”

“You’ve always been so respectful of my time, and the fact that I can’t always be _with_ you, like, by your side, physically. And you listen to me complain. And you bring me to your house to nap. And you’re not shy in showing how much you appreciate me, physically and… emotionally? Like you’re not embarrassed. Like, you treat me as a human being, while everyone else treats me like a celebrity. Or something to be ogled at. To make a point through. What am I saying?”

“That’s because you are a human being.”

Softly, through his sniffles, Jackson mumbles, “You’re my _favorite_ human being.”

Mark chuckles at that.

“And I wish you would let me _show_ it.”

Curious now, but still very unwilling to move, Mark tries to reach up so he can cup the side of Jackson’s face. “What do you mean, baby?”

“You don’t want me spending money on you.”

“No. I feel guilty when people spend money on me.”

Jackson wiggles so he’s lying on his back, so he can see Mark easier, and takes a moment to blink away his headrush. “You know you’re worth millions, right? No, like, _bajillions_.”

Mark’s face speckles red. “I support you and don’t second-guess anything, not any more, and you’ve been amazing to me, and treat me well, but I’m working on it. Babe… I’m really working on it.”

“You get that I don’t think any of this is your fault, right? Take all the time you need.” Jackson’s sounding more and more sober, his words less and less meshed together. “Your ex-boyfriends are worthless. They’re shit. You’re better than that. And I want to prove it to you, but do it in a way that makes you comfortable. I want to post pictures of you and hold your hand every day and let the world know I lo —”

No, he’s not that drunk.

Jackson’s not that drunk.

Mark whips his head up, eyes unfocusing for a second as the room rushes, and their gazes meet. Jackson’s shocked expression, the way his lips are parted, frozen around the second half of the word, are unmoving. They’ve known each other for months now. It’s not strange that Jackson would feel this way.

The room comes to a skidding halt.

“I just… uh, I just want…”

“Why would I spend so much money going out to eat when I can just cook at home? My family always saved eating out for special occasions.”

The panic won’t leave Jackson’s face. “Okay. I’ll cook for you, then.” And then he’s struggling to unroll himself from the covers. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

It’s not an invitation.

 

 

By the time he gets out of the shower, Jackson’s much more sober, but not any less flustered over what he almost said. Thankfully, Mark’s already sleeping, curled up on the side of the bed with his little fists hanging off. So Jackson slides into bed and puts a hand on Mark’s shoulder. He’s just awake enough that he feels it, moving towards it, and inches in when Jackson softly asks him to.

“Are you awake?”

After a minute, Mark hums. He’s almost sleeping. Jackson curls up against him, spooning him from behind and burying his face into his hair. It smells a lot like the restaurant.

Jackson closes his eyes and breathes in.

He doesn’t say what’s on the tip of his tongue; on the edge of heart, because he’s afraid Mark will hear. It’s not that he doesn’t want Mark to know, it’s just he doesn’t know what to do with it yet.

_I love you._

He’s thinking it, accepting it, but for some reason, doesn’t feel any lighter.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

For the next few days they play in the hotel pool until they get pruney, they make out in a hot tub, they fuck on the sofa in the room, and last but not least, they gamble away their money. Until Mark hits a jackpot of a few thousand and they win back what they lost, and then some. It’s not a whole lot, but Mark gets possessive over it. Which is fair.

“I’m not playing anymore.” He says, counting the bills in his hands. “This is the most cash I’ve ever held.”

They tuck most of it away in the suitcase and Mark buys them a night out. Jackson’s heart flutters and his palms sweat. What happened the other night hasn’t been discussed, both of them acting like it had never happened, but Jackson’s bursting with a shiny new feeling and he just wants to release all this new energy. He’s ready to try new things, ready to take on a new adventure, and Mark feeds off his energy, showcasing his high-pitched laughter and thrill-seeking side.

Which kind of kills the vibe a little.

“What if we went sky-diving?”

Jackson’s just staring at him from across the table. “Uh. No.”

The waitress comes by, stares at Jackson until she almost over fills their cups with water, and nearly trips on her way out.

“She thinks you’re hot.” Mark comments absently, scrolling through Google.

“Or she recognizes me as the Olympic Fencer, Jackson Wang.” He gestures to himself and Mark just rolls his eyes. “Which, is who I am.”

“So modest.” He mumbles sarcastically. “What about bungee -”

“No. _No._ Are you fucking crazy? Oh, my God. I’m gonna have a heart attack just thinking about it.”

“What if we -”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“Shut up. We could —”

“Do you know how much I’m worth?”

Mark swats at him for that one. Jackson turns on the dramatics, Mark watching on silently but with amusement bright in his eyes and in the curve of his lips. “I actually don’t know.”

“Well. A lot.”

“So how long do we have to be married before I can reap the benefits of your life insurance?”

Jackson glares at him, making a face and holding his laughter. “You gonna marry me then kill me? And here I was thinkin' you wanted to be with me for me.”

Their banter gets cut short when the waitress comes back, finally having the courage to speak up and explain her awkward actions.

“You’re Jackson Wang, right? One of the fencers for America’s Olympic Fencing team?”

Jackson doesn’t want to brag, not in front of a fan, so he saves it for after she’s gone. He signs her notepad and takes a selfie with her, telling her it’s nothing when she apologises for intruding on his lunch.

“Does this mean we have to tip her extra?” Mark asks when she’s gone.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“So what if we went kayaking? Wake-boarding?”

Okay. That doesn’t sound so terrifying.

While Jackson mulls it over, Mark pulls a few bills from his wallet to pay the bill and tip. He smiles when Jackson finally nods, accepting that out of all the activities Mark’s suggested, this is the one least likely to kill him.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

“You went kayaking?”

Jackson doesn’t appreciate Amber’s tone and disbelieving expression. “Yes. And we have pictures to prove it.”

She holds her hand out and Youngjae and Jaebum snicker at the interaction, as Jackson pulls out his phone and lets her slide through the photos. He’s not worried about her finding anything on there. He has nothing to hide from his best friend.

The four of them are finally visiting Bambam’s family’s restaurant; Jackson, Amber, Youngjae and Jaebum. The first thing Jackson did after coming back from vacation was tell the others he missed them, and then planned time together. It feels good to hang out in a group without Mark, because his friends are Jackson’s friends, too, since they’ve integrated so well with each other. Amber and Jaebum mentioned they were in, since they haven’t hung out in a while. Knowing they still chat warms Jackson’s heart.

The place is crowded for lunch hour, and the a/c unit mounted in the wall putts with great effort to keep it not so stifling hot. It isn’t located too far from Jinyoung’s place of employment, and he shows up in a suit and cute spotted tie for his lunch hour. He gives Jaebum a quick kiss and since they’re seated in the corner, by the tall windows so the other patrons aren’t close enough to witness it. Youngjae is busy slurping up his noodles, and leans in so his boyfriend can kiss the top of his head without interrupting his meal.

“Oh, this is cute.” Amber interrupts the moment to show everyone a photo on Jackson’s phone, one where he and Mark are sitting out on the hotel porch, kissing with the lights of Vegas behind them. “Super high school-y, but still cute.”

Jinyoung coos the longest and sends it to the group chat. He’s so embarrassing.

The door chimes just as Bambam brings over Jinyoung’s food, as the order had been placed by Jaebum so it’d be ready when Jinyoung got there, and Bambam’s whole demeanor changes again when he turns to greet the customer. It’s cartoonish how quick he can shift through facial expressions.

“Is that my little princess?!” He yells, dropping Jinyoung’s food on the table and spinning around to kneel and throw open his arms.

Mark is with a small girl that he recognizes the girl as the niece from the Halloween party.

She’s in jean overall shorts, her chubby legs kicking out at Bambam’s enthusiastic greeting, and her dark hair is pulled into low pigtails. Mark sets her down and she takes a second to catch her own balance, Mark’s hands hovering over her shoulders, before she bolts across the restaurant, arms flailing in inexperience.

Bambam scoops her up into his arms and litters her face with kisses. She squeals in delight, attracting attention of the customers who look on with expressions of adoration.

Lucy, Jackson remembers, makes her way around the table, getting kisses from each and every one of her uncles. She calls them unclae Jae, uncle Bummie, uncle Jin, uncle Bammie. She doesn’t shy when Amber waves to her, promptly crawling into Amber lap and pulling on her baseball cap.

“Lucy, no.” Mark is over Amber’s shoulder in an instant, but she assures it’s fine, and drops the too large cap on Lucy’s head.

“Are you watching her today?” Jinyoung asks as Lucy makes her way back into his lap, latching onto him and sticking her tongue out. When she pulls her tongue back in her mouth Jinyoung sticks his out, makes a funny face, and she claps and giggles.

“Yeah, Joey fell off his skateboard and Tammy rushed him to the emergency room. They’re still there so I went to pick Lucy up. She was screaming while Tammy tried to fill out paperwork.”

Jinyoung just nods, but he’s probably not paying attention, still playing with Lucy. Bambam is behind him, teasing Lucy by tickling her rosy cheeks.

“Did Joey break his arm?” Jaebum seems a little concerned.

“Again?” Youngjae adds.

“No. His wrist.”

“Close enough.” Jaebum mumbles.

Jackson loves kids. So he sits in his corner, up against the wall, vibrating with excitement at the little ball of energy sitting only a few seats away from him. Amber watches him with that dumb amused expression on her face again — why does he keep her around when all she does is tease him?

Mark seems to notice the tension radiating off his boyfriend and breaks up the cute moment between Jinyoung, Bambam and Lucy. He lifts her out of Jinyoung’s arms and goes around the table to introduce her to Jackson.

“Do you remember Jackson?” He asks, and Jackson tries not to snatch her from his grip. “From Halloween? Do you remember Peter Pan?”

Lucy squirms in her uncle’s hold, eager to get into Peter Pan’s lap. Jackson grins and holds her with two careful hands. She smushes his face with her tiny palms and Jackson’s heart explodes in his chest.

“Pan!” She yells, and everyone laughs but Jackson doesn’t care that it’s not his name. “Peter Pan!”

“That’s me.” He says, situating her on his lap. “And what’s your name?”

“I’m Lucy. I’m three.” She holds up four fingers and Jaebum reaches over to help her out by putting one down. She looks at her fingers like she’s trying to study them, and then thrusts them back into Jackson’s face. “Three.” She reiterates.

“I’m twenty-four.” Jackson says, holding out his hands. “Can you count that with me?”

Lucy touches each of his fingers as she counts, slowly and carefully, accidentally slipping in a Mandarin number in there, but corrects herself. When Jackson runs out of fingers she volunteers Jaebum, since he’s sitting at their side, and counts up to twenty with his fingers. She calls for Uncle Mark, and finishes the count with his long fingers, grumbling, “So many hands…”

Jackson gives her two high fives, her small hands barely filling up his palm, and tells her she’s the smartest three-year in the world. Lucy glows.

 

As the day trails on, as the gang has to separate at various times of the day; Amber has things to do in the afternoon, Youngjae has an evening class, Bambam and Jinyoung need to go back to work, and Jaebum needs a nap before his late shift at work, Jackson and Mark are left alone by the evening to watch Lucy together. They sit in the living room of Mark’s apartment with her situated between them, Jackson feeding her sliced fruit as her small, wide eyes stay fixed on the television. They’re watching Moana, and if Lucy’s seen it before, it’s not apparent. She’s transfixed.

“I’ve seen this movie three times already.” Mark seems a little antsy having to watch it again.

They’re at the part where Moana is navigating the stars, out alone on the vast ocean. This is about where Jackson caught it the first time so he knows what happens going forward, and lets himself be drawn away by side conversation. He’s still interested in the film, glancing between it and Mark as they talk.

“Youngjae must’ve watched it like, a million.”

“Hm?” Mark’s words take a moment to process. Jackson’s laughing at Hei-Hei again. “I love cartoons, I don’t mind. And I love Disney.”

“Hence Peter Pan and Tinkerbell.”

Jackson hums, still turned to the television. “Yeah. And I wanna keep doing cheesy stuff like that, you know? One day when I have kids we’ll do whole family costumes.”

“You want kids?”

Having only been in and out of the conversation, Jackson takes a second for the words to soak in. There’s a gravity that comes with that question that Jackson trips on, and he’s withdrawing from the movie to turn to look at Mark. This is a conversation he needs to be in the moment for. Mark is staring at him.

All of a sudden he’s scared. This is something that can change their future together in an instant, and Jackson wants Mark to stay in his life as long as possible. For as far ahead as he can see, Mark’s there, by his side, buying a house with him, traveling for competitions with him, sleeping in his bed, and, maybe even, they’ll raise kids together.

They’ve been dating two months. Granted, they’ve known each other for much longer, and the transition from ‘just friends’ to ‘dating’ has been a much smoother ride once they hurdled over miscommunication, but it’s too soon. But it’s also important to know these things. This relationship feels like it’s been hurdle after hurdle after hurdle. But this time, Jackson knows to be open and candid, and Mark will do the same. They’ll work on this, like they’ll work on everything else.

It’s all happening too fast and too sudden. Thankfully Lucy is still too engrossed in the movie to realize that Jackson’s not feeding her snacks anymore, because he can’t move his limbs.

“Yeah. I want to adopt. One day. When this whole fencing thing is over.”

Mark opens his mouth but pauses around the word. He switches gears, shaking his head to himself. “Over?”

“Yeah. Like. I’m scared if I’m in the middle of a season I can’t be the dad I want to be.”

“Fencing isn’t gonna last long?”

“I don’t know. A few more years? Eventually my joints are gonna give out. And then I’ll coach, or something. Or manage a new fencer. Or maybe I’ll just stick to modeling and commercials.” After a second, “Or something.”

Because it’s weird that now he’s thinking of easy it would be to make a few rearrangements to his life if Mark’s in it.

“Luhan’s getting into acting now and Victoria hosts. Maybe I could that, too.”

There are an overwhelming amount of conversations stemming from this. Mark seems to stay on track. “I thought you realized you like fencing. Why would you give it up?”

“I _do_ like fencing. Now that I’ve realized what I want to do with it, you know? But I’m gonna get old eventually and turn into old news and the media will have some young sixteen year old to prey on and I won’t be fun anymore.” He notices the worry wrinkle into Mark’s forehead. “And it’s fine. I accept this. I’m doing this and enjoying it now and,” his gaze shifts momentarily back to the movie. “I have more freedom. An I can date you. and I can finally act like a boyfriend And one day, a dad… Do you want kids?”

Mark nods, patting Lucy’s head. “I really want kids. I want to wait a few more years, of course. I don’t want to adopt a child while I’m still here.” He gestures to the apartment. “One day Jaebum, Bambam, Yugyeom, Jinyoung, Youngjae and I aren’t going to be living here anymore. And I want a yard to raise her in. And for her to have her own space, and a dog. Maybe two. I think it’s important for kids to have animals in the house while they’re growing up.”

Jackson catches the pronoun. “You want a girl?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t really think I care what gender my child is. But, I know for sure, I want corgis.”

A slow, beautiful smile spreads over Mark’s face. Jackson can’t help it when he leans over and kisses Mark’s temple. They haven’t said the word, but talking about forever is scary, but so comforting.

The movie and conversation ends when Lucy knocks out and slouches against Jackson’s side. He keeps an arm around her until Tammy comes to pick her up. Tammy can’t stay long, but asks for a summary of the day and thanks her brother and his boyfriend over and over for watching Lucy. She fills them in on Joey, too, who has a sprained wrist from a dumb skateboarding accident, and he’s going to be in a cast for three weeks.

“I’ll go visit him this weekend, on my day off.” Mark says, rolling his eyes. Obviously he’s used to this.

“Apparently he was trying to prove to his friends that he knows you.” Tammy doesn’t look nor sound convicting when she gestures towards the Fencer, but Jackson still feels weird knowing about this. “He dropped his phone, lost balance on the skateboard, and fell.”

Lucy stirs then, making a noise like she’s going to cry, and then falls quiet. Tammy excuses herself, and Jackson goes back inside while Mark walks her out to her car.

He’s already in bed playing on his phone when Mark comes in and gets under the blankets with him. They pick up the conversation from earlier, talking about what’s shaped their ideas of families, of old friends that have come and gone, of aunts and uncles and cousins at family gatherings. They keep things vague and keep each other’s names out of their future, but it’s alleviating to know how much of their hopes and dreams seem to fall in line with one another, even as conversation flows into something else, something unrelated, as they talk about first dates and first kisses and, gravely, of the men that have treated Mark as a side-fuck, of all the crushes Jackson’s had and all the times he’s been betrayed by people he thought were friends.

They lean on each other like friends, like boyfriends, even when they smile through sad memories, and reflect on how they’ve grown, and how all these things led them here. Together.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

 

Jackson hasn’t been home in nearly two weeks.

One week due to vacation, and the other simply because he’s gotten used to waking up with Mark. Used gotten used to Jinyoung already being up making breakfast. He eats breakfast with Youngjae or Yugyeom, sometimes both, and gets his make-up done by Bambam on the mornings he doesn’t have practice. Jaebum is never awake early, since he works past midnight most nights.

Today is Jackson’s day off. It’s also Mark’s too, and they lie in bed past seven, even though Jackson does wake up, just a little, when Jaebum comes into the room to swoop Nora off the bed, whispering to her to not bother the couple. He wakes up again a little after that, not enough to get up or really care what time it is.

But his body is already fighting him, not used to sleeping in, and the sunlight is still strong through Mark’s pink curtains, reminding him that there’s a day to get to.

So Jackson rolls over, curling around Mark from behind, still hazy and lost somewhere between sleep and awakeness, subconsciously looking for Mark’s warmth. It doesn’t get very cold in LA, but winter is just over the horizon and Mark’s window is open, letting in the chill, and the sounds of birds, and the rumbling of cars over gravel.

In the middle of the delirium of being caught in between slumber and awakeness, Jackson and Mark’s lips find each other. It starts as lazy, lazy morning kisses. Mark’s hand slides up his bicep, he nips of Jackson’s lower lip, does it again and again, letting out a soft moan as Jackson pulls him closer, and slides one hand down to his ass. Mark palms at his thighs, presses their dicks together and there are no words spoken when Jackson pulls away to roll over and press his ass to Mark’s dick.

They’re both fully awake now, trying to keep it down. knowing that everyone else is in the apartment. Mark’s erection slides between his thighs with the help of warm lube, precum and sweat.

Mark’s soon grunting into his neck, gripping his waist, mumbling praises. “I love your thighs. I _love_ your fuckin’ thighs,” and Jackson’s pushing back, one hand fisting the sheets and the other reached back to fist Mark’s hair.

The head of Mark’s erection keeps pressing against his balls, Mark’s slender hand catches tightly around Jackson’s dick, pulling him closer to his orgasm. Jackson arches, trying to get Mark higher up on his thighs and to rub against his perineum, wanting _more more more._. He clamps his teeth down on his tongue when Mark glides a thumb over his slit and breathes against the pulse point on his neck. He falls right into this, breath shuddering as he tries to keep his noises down. Everything feels so so much more.

Mark has both arms hooked around Jackson, one on his dick and one tweaking his nipple and Jackson groans too loudly when he finally gets there, coming all over Mark’s hand and the sheets and then Mark comes, hips stuttering, releasing and spilling between Jackson’s thighs, his balls, and dripping onto the mattress.

They don’t move for a minute, just panting, until Jackson rolls over, reaching for his boyfriend with desire that hasn’t gone away. Want is heavy in his bones still. Mark groans tiredly into his mouth when Jackson rolls on top and slots their lips together.

“It’s like, eight-thirty. I’ve been awake for like, twenty minutes. How the fuck do you have so much energy?”

“I never sleep in this late.” Jackson mouths at Mark’s neck. He tastes a little salty and smells a little like his coconut body wash, still, from his shower last night. “I’m used to being up and in the gym by now.”

“If I can stay in bed until two in the afternoon, I stay in bed until two in the afternoon.”

Jackson laughs at that, trying not to press his still-sensitive dick into Mark’s. Then he pulls away, satisfied with how blown Mark’s pupils are, how despite his words of being tired, Mark’s hands still keep Jackson close.

“Are you too sleepy to fuck me?”

The reaction is almost instant. “No. I’m awake. I’m _very_ awake.”

Jackson laughs into Mark’s mouth as he’s pulled down for kisses.

Since it’s still so early, they have time. Neither of them have anywhere to be. Jackson wants to take as much time as he can kissing down Mark’s body, licking and tasting all the way to his crotch. Mark fists Jackson’s hair, spreading his legs as Jackson works his tongue on him, lapping up cum and sweat but leaving behind just as much of a mess of spit. Every tug on his hair urges Jackson on, and he squeezes Mark’s side when Mark pulls. One violent pull on his hair has him biting into Mark’s thigh and Mark groans, low and needy. He squirms as Jackson holds him in place, sucking am angry, red splotch on his inner thigh.

On very rare days, the whole gang is home. There are no classes; or they’ve been canceled. Bambam is home instead of the restaurant, maybe Jaebum wasn’t needed at the bar the night before and he’s up with everyone else. Jackson can hear Jinyoung’s voice from down the hall, too, Jackson unsure why Jinyoung would be here, but doesn’t care right now.

Instead, Jackson focuses on Mark’s cock in his hand, on tugging through his sleep tousled hair and red lips. He kisses down Mark’s sun-kissed arm, teases him where his skin is lighter on his chest, and then buries his face into Mark’s neck, pressing hungry kisses to Mark’s jawline.

He works them back up slowly, keeping their moans quiet and tangled with the bedsheets.

Mark works him open with two long fingers, teasing him by avoiding his prostate. He’s familiar with where it is, looking to provoke a response. And it’s only when Jackson’s dick is flushed and straining, precum dribbling from the tip, feeling too warm on his abs, does Jackson give Mark that satisfaction. He grabs Mark by the hair and yanks him down, biting harshly. He’s hard and impatient and Mark’s wet tip leaves a trail on his thigh.

“Are you gonna fuck me or no?”

Mark curls his fingers and Jackson loses control, arching with a loud curse. He slaps a hand over his mouth and glares at Mark from over his palm. Mark just giggles and kisses his knuckles.

While positioning himself, he whispers, “Everyone’s gonna hear you.”

“Maybe if you stopped teasing and just got on with it...”

Jackson lifts his hips, groaning as the slide is easy and wet. He throws his head back, the pain feeling good as Mark bottoms out, pressing their hips flush.

“Is that better?” Mark rubs a hand up and down Jackson’s stomach, as if trying to appease him. Jackson lets his head fall back and eyes flutter close, Mark’s hand settled on his chest as he takes in a deep gulp of air, steadying himself.

Mark is generous, and finds a rhythm that works for Jackson, that has his breath coming out in short, quick huffs. It’s deep thrusts, where he pulls almost all the way out, until Jackson’s body is trying to pull him back in, and he slides back in, quick, with a sharp thrust, working to fill him back up. Jackson bites his lips to keep his sounds in, rolls his hips and claws at Mark’s chest, agonized by the slow, purposeful way he’s being fucked. He’s aware of how Mark watches him, admiring him.

“Faster,” Jackson chokes out, his toes curling.

Mark does not. He keeps his steady pace. The grip he has on Jackson’s waist tells him just how hard this is for Mark, too.

Then Mark leans back on his knees and pulls Jackson’s lower half into his lap, leaving his back and arms laid out on the sheets and Jackson keeps his feet planted, hips up in the air so that this new slide has Mark sliding right up against that bundle of nerves that has Jackson clawing at the sheets, his body spasming from the sudden onslaught of pleasure and he clenches around Mark. Mark thrusts shallowly and hard, blinking, his jaw set as he focuses on control. Jackson does not. He arches and groans, tightening his legs around Mark’s waist and digging his heels into Mark’s lower back, urging him on.

“Please.” Mark’s not moving fast enough, Jackson wants more, he can take _more._

“Yes?”

Jackson rolls his hips, trying for a hotter friction. “Fuck me, please. _Please,_ harder.” It’s almost embarrassing how thin his voice is, but something works, because Mark’s grip on hips tighten and he speeds up, giving Jackson what he wants, fucking him harder and faster until his breath catches in his throat.

His orgasm sneaks up on him. Jackson can feel it pulling in his lower gut, feel it drag through his bones, but with the slow drag against the harsh pressure on his prostrate he’s arching off the bed with a cry of Mark’s name.

After a few blinks up at the ceiling, Jackson cups Mark’s shoulder and reels him down for a soft kiss.

“You’re still hard.”

Mark moves to pull out and Jackson lets him, but then rolls over before he can let himself think about it, getting on his hands on his knees.

He’s a little wobbly from his orgasm, but —

“Babe, it’s okay, we don’t —”

“Fuck me.” He buries his face in the pillow and really hopes that he doesn’t have to beg for it.

“But —are you _sure_?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know…” Jackson’s lips are chapped and he keeps licking them, biting them, “You’ll know if I really want you to stop.” The safe word. He’s not going to say it outloud, not now, and he drops his shoulders to the bed and lifts his ass in the air, shooting a look over his shoulder that he hopes don’t read any hint of uncertainty. He trusts Mark to take care of him.

Mark seems to finally get it and he moves to kneel behind Jackson, gets on his knees with his hands on Jackson’s hips and Jackson can feel the way Mark’s eyes take him in. They probably follow his hand, as he traces over the chorded muscles of Jackson’s shoulders and biceps. They’re flexed them because he knows Mark likes it.

First, just the tip slides in. Jackson’s body jerks against his will but he shuts his eyes and buries his face in the pillows. It’s fine. He’s fine.

And then Mark thrusts, slow. Shallow. Jackson’s whole body tingles. Okay. Yeah.

“Is it okay?”

Jackson nods. He’s fine.

One more shallow thrust and Jackson doesn’t know _what_ he’s feeling. But it’s good. He throws a look over his shoulder and can read the hesitance threaded in Mark’s expression.

So he pushes his hips back, groaning, a wave of pleasure washing over him and his hands twitch, gripping the sheets and he can’t help it when he pushes back harder, wanting more, begging for more with his body.

Mark moves, once, twice, and then grips Jackson by his hips, fucking him with a vigor like he’d been saving it all up, and Jackson’s biting into the pillow, dizzy, his breath catching and locking in his throat and he can’t make noise, even if he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. He arches his back, rolls his hips and his knees slide against the mattress and he feels the fitting sheet loosen when he yanks on it when Mark pushes into his prostate, sending a painful shock of pleasure through his system, crackling through the nerves in his body.

He’s never felt so exposed, and Mark arches over him, pants into his neck, holding on and fucking him until his fingers and toes and head are filled with white noise.

There’s a familiar tug in his gut. And Jackson, feeling like jello, mumbles Mark’s name. Says it over and over like a mantra because there’s nothing else but Mark’s hands and teeth on his body and Mark’s hot breath on the back of his neck and that’s all he feels, stuffed full.

Mark’s voice is low in his ear. Deep. Like how Jackson’s being fucked. “Can you come again? Can you come for me, baby? Can you do that?”

Jackson can feel Mark’s breath on his neck, where he’s sweaty and sore from teeth marks, where his pulse races and tries to escape from, and his mind is fuzzy and he thinks he’s crying from over stimulation but Mark’s still pressing into his prostate, whispering into his ear and urging him on, urging him closer, and Jackson didn’t think he could, but he cums again.

It’s not much, he’d only been half hard, but it washes relief over his body and he’s blinking away tears and the static from the corners of his vision and when Mark cums after a muted thrust, rasping a moan into his ear, Jackson arches, feeling full. Whole. And sweaty and dirty.

When Mark pulls out it leaves Jackson feeling empty but relieved.

“Someone definitely heard you.”

Jackson didn’t realize how loud he’d been. He closes his eyes and lies there, breathing, letting his body settle back down with Mark at his side.

“Are you okay? Was that… too much?”

It takes a second but he nods. “Yeah,” Jackson inhales deeply again, coming down. He assures Mark that he’s fine with a soft kiss on his cheek. He tries not to think about the mess between his legs.

Mark smiles at him, leaning over for a quick kiss. “Should we go shower?”

“Yes. Yes please.”

 

The teasing comes on full-force when the couple is done showering. The roommates are all in the living room watching tv, curled up with their boyfriends, when Jinyoung’s voice catches Jackson out of his dozing stupor.

“It’s not even eleven and you already need a nap?”

Jackson, who’s got his cheek smushed into Mark’s chest, lulled by one hand carding through his hair and the deep thurm of satisfaction from three orgasms, just raises his hand so he can point a middle finger in the general direction of where the voice came from. “Yes, I need a nap. I came _three_ times this morning.”

He can feel Mark’s chest warm through his thin tee-shirt.

“Wow.” Yugyeom whistles from the other couch.

“I guess this was a good morning for all of us.” Bambam laughs. “We all stayed in bed kind of late.”

“Except for Jaebum.” Jinyoung's full of good spirits, apparently. “Fell asleep on the couch last night and missed his chance.”

Youngjae laughs, loud and obnoxious. Jackson cracks one eye open to just catch the way Jaebum ducks behind Youngjae, the cheeks of his ears red. “Neither of you came to get me.”

“Mine and Youngjae’s pants were already off. I wasn’t gonna leave the room.” Jinyoung counters. He’s usually a very personal guy, but when it’s just the seven of them he’s open; comfortable.

“And you didn’t answer your phone.” Youngjae is craning to try and pull Jaebum out from behind him. It’s adorable how the three of them always manage to curl together on limited couch space.

“It was on _silent_.”

“You could’ve called me. I would’ve let him know.” Mark says, glad the attention is off of him now.

They tease Mark about how he had been the one to give that final push and get the three of them together, but Jackson lets their voices fade to the background. He doesn’t feel the need to engage in their conversation, he knows this memory well; how Mark had faced Jaebum and argued with him, how it was him that made Jaebum realize his feelings for two boys, and how it was Mark that found the apartment.

There’s no need for him to jump in, because here he’s comfortable, a part of the group, when only a few months ago he’d been trying to run away and escape. So much has changed, and Jackson has never felt more settled and comfortable in his skin, and comfortable in his surroundings. Even when a hashtag trends or an interviewer gets too personal for camera, he’s happier with who he is; unashamed. And he really thinks he couldn’t have done it without these idiots.

Jackson wraps his arms tighter around Mark, shifting so they’re more chest-to-chest, his face buried in Mark’s neck. Mark is pliant in his arms, unguarded and trusting and safe. They meld into each other better now than ever before.

“I love you, Markie,” He mumbles. Quiet. Just between the two of them, even with everyone else laughing and talking in the room.

Mark kisses the top of his head, a hand slipping back into his hair to rub the nape. It feels nice. “I love you, too,” He whispers.

Jackson’s never been so free.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**[ 2020 ]**

It’s all static. The pounding of blood to his ears stops, the sound of the crowd; the burning lights, the millions of eyes on him; blur our. Only hours ago he’d been nervous to the point of nausea, hadn’t been able to sleep or eat, on edge to the point where Mark wouldn’t even touch him; but now all the neurons in his brain are firing. His body is tight, and he feels the weightlessness of the saber in his hands, feels like he’s breathing despite the heavy mask, and each second ticks, ticks, ticks.

He moves. One foot forward, one quick, clean thrust, and he misses. His opponent relies on his size; on the wideness of his shoulders that he’s quick to veer with, on the length of his arms gives him an unfair advantage, and his first strike is swift and powerful, a full-force attack right on Jackson’s arm. He knows what’s happening as it happens, and tries to bite down his tongue.

His muscles pull when Hungary strikes — _fast_ — and his opponent’s saber misses him, the man pushing back and Jackson lunges — forward — forward — _closer_ — and strikes. Clean and quick and he feels victory run through his blood.

The seconds tick… tick… tick…

And the crowd starts screaming. The excitement floods his senses; filling his ears with sound and his mouth with screams and his head swarms, ripping off the helmet with a cry. Then he collapses to his knees, breathes in, too hard and too fast and he’s still dizzy. His opponent comes forward and Jackson nearly falls forward in his haste to get up, shake the man’s hand, giving him a blinding smile and telling him he did amazing.

Yixing and Coach barrel onto the mat and the crowd screams and Jackson’s dizzy, and feeling powerful, and tense, and light, and painfully sore and exhausted and it all comes in at once but his arms are full and Yixing is kissing his head and _God,_ the crowd is screaming. Jackson’s screaming and Yixing is crying and Coach’s grin is a toothy, wide smile full of pride.

_Jackson Wang from team U.S.A takes home the Gold for Men’s Individual Fencing_

Mark grabs his sweaty face once he comes within reach, as Jackson is off the mat and towards the benches, and kisses him in front of the crowds. The camera pans away, and even though the reason why would normally sit ugly with Jackson, he doesn’t care. He breathes Mark in, and Mark holds him steady. This moment is better just the two of them.

When he pulls away, the look Mark gives him is worth all the training and long nights that kept them apart for sometimes weeks at a time. Mark’s always supported him; always supported _fencing_.

But he has to step away, to move towards the camera and reporters. Yixing is at his side, mumbling lowly in Mandarin, “Do you want the ring now?” He steps aside so Amber can come barreling through, throwing herself into Jackson’s arms to scream in his ear, yelling congratulations in all the languages she knows, but then bends that energy inwards, stepping aside and looking at Yixing expectantly, hopping from foot to foot.

“Wait,” Jackson eyes the way Yixing puts a hand over the side pocket of his jacket. “Not yet.”

“But I thought you wanted —” Amber pulls on a ready-for-the-camera smile and drops the topic at once, letting Jackson face the cameras.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

They’re at the ice rinks now. Jackson’s showered off, his hair fluffy from the humidity. Mark won’t let him go, as if they were a new couple all over again. His hands have to be on Jackson at all times; resting on his thigh, or sitting on the small of his back, or elbows linked. Jackson leans into the attention, dropping a soft kiss wherever he can. The pride that his boyfriend feels for him comes rolling off in waves, and Mark can’t stop grinning at him, looking at him like he put the sun in the sky.

Even as the others crowd around, as Youngjae politely asks to hold the Gold medal, Jackson feels his skin buzz when Mark touches him. The group all want photos with him and Bambam is livestreaming the performance, and then Jackson joins the livestream even though they’re sitting side by side, screaming for Victoria as she dances on the ice. Luhan takes the stream over and links his arm with Jackson's free arm. He catches them all yelling for Victoria, and the moment she ends with a beautiful twirl.

Amber leans forward after Victoria’s off the ice and saying hello to the cameras, a detour before she can come up and be with her friends, whispering into Jackson's ear; “Are you gonna do it or not?”

Yixing puts his hand over his pocket, waiting.

“Not yet.” Jackson mumbles, feeling all the resolve and confidence from before flow out of him like a stream dumping into the ocean.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

The confidence doesn’t come back, drowned and left behind in the ocean near the shores of Japan, where Jackson had almost — _almost_ — found it again, on an night when it was just him and Mark and the moon out by the water. The heavy ring sits heavier in his pocket.

 

**\------------------------------------------------**

 

The summer passes and the sun sets earlier, and Amber and Jaebum eventually stop asking him when he plans to propose. Sophia and Ricky eventually stop with the weird hints and not-so-subtle peeks at Mark’s ring finger when they’re together.

They celebrate their two year anniversary just the two of them, talk of the future fifty years from now, and Jackson tightens his grip on Mark’s hand and wonders if this is okay, if it’s too soon, or if it’s just right.

Sometimes Jackson feels like he’s rushing this. He lies in bed at night staring up at the ceiling with Mark tucked against his side, and some nights Mark goes back to his apartment, where he still lives his friends. Their lease ends in seven months and Jackson gets choked up when he thinks of asking Mark to move in. Mark’s opinion had been the deciding factor in Jackson’s decision on the condo; it’s a gorgeous loft; the first two floors facing large, large windows that give a beautiful view of a private beach. The third floor is his bedroom; white and clean and neat, with french doors that open to the porch looking over the ocean. It’s more space than Jackson really needs, it’s too big even when he invites friends and family over, but the way Mark looked when he opened the french doors and stood in the sunlight, breathing in the ocean air with the sun glittering off his brown eyes, made Jackson buy the condo.

Tonight, Mark is out, and not supposed to come over. Jackson stayed in because of a migraine and has the place to himself, and the moonlight bounces off the ocean, casting shimmering moonlight through the house. He feels better after a nap, sitting in the dim lighting. The light catches the diamonds encrusted in the band.

The only ones that know his plan to propose are his parents, Yixing, Amber and Jaebum. He’d gone to all the diamond stores in NYC during a photoshoot there before the Summer Olympics, and found a place that took requests. Jackson would have been willing to spend a fortune on Mark, but he knows Mark well enough to know that the gesture wouldn’t be appreciated. So he settled on something simpler, and went with a single sapphire on a bed of diamonds; for Mark’s birth month.

Jackson spends all his time watching engagement videos, engagement ideas, romantic dates and trips for two. He could propose in a hot air balloon, or on the top of the Alps, or while scuba diving in Prague, or in front of all the cameras at the Summer Olympics, like he had almost, _almost_ done. But Mark isn’t flashy. He’s happy with dates to In-N-Out, even if Jackson can’t eat most of the stuff on the menu because of his diet, and tries to be at least a little fancier sometimes.

Around eleven, he gets a tagged notification on his Instagram. Mark is out to eat with Amber, Sunyoung, Jaebum, Jinyoung and Youngjae, and the caption says he’s missing his other half. There's already a few hundred likes and comments. His follower count had tripled when they publicly came out with their relationship after eight months. Mark expressed feeling pressured at first. He always had an above average number of followers for being Bambam's friend, and appearing as a guest and friend on Bambam's YouTube channel, but no longer feels the pressure the way he used to. He posts freely. 

Without thinking, Jackson dials Mark.

“Hey! I just tagged you on Insta.” Mark says around a mouthful of food.

“I saw.”

“Oh, well, how are you feeling? How’s your big head?”

Jackson smiles at that and stares at the gold medal hanging across the room. He has a whole wall dedicated to his trophies and awards, and while Mark had teased him for being pretentious, Mark had been the one that installed the shelving one day while Jackson was out, giving him the space to showcase his passion.

“Much better.” Jackson says after a minute. Underneath the medal is a photo of him and Mark on the beach in Japan, from the weekend of the Olympics.

The phone gets passed around, the rest of the group saying they miss him, even though he had seen them yesterday for lunch, and they need to make plans soon, maybe have a movie night.

“Just somethin’ low-key, y’know?” Amber says, and something click on inside Jackson’s head.

“Give the phone to Mark.”

Amber makes a _pfft_ noise into the phone, “Excuse me? I know Mark’s your boyfriend — this poor boy, but I’m your best friend and as your best friend I have the _right_ to —”

“I’m gonna propose.”

Amber gasps and chokes on whatever she’s eating. Jackson’s confidence doesn’t go away as she hacks up a lung on the other end. “ _Now_?”

“No, can you just give Mark his phone back?”

He’s pretty sure he hears Amber call him a jackass, and a few other things, but after she’s calmed down and had a sip of water she mumbles, “Yeah, I guess I can die another time, sorry for the inconvenience.” Her tone is far from angry, and Jackson knows that the grin she’s wearing is way too obvious and Mark’s confused.

“Babe?” Yeah, Mark’s confused. “What just happened?”

“Hi, my love, can you come over tonight?”

“What? Babe, if I keep sleeping at your place then you’re gonna owe me my half of rent for _my_ apartment. That I never sleep at. Ever. But still have a room in.”

“I’ll pay it. I’ll pay it up until your lease it up, fuck, I can pay the whole rent until the lease is up and then —”

“Uh, don’t say that too loud, because if you think Jinyoung won’t hold you to it —”

“Can you just?” Jackson feels out of breath, like he just sparred with Nessa, or ran five miles with Luhan, “Come over?”

“Yeah. Yeah, after dinner. I’ll —”

“No rush.”

It’s been just over two years and Jackson never tires of showering Mark with all the love he can give.

He bathes the condo in rose petals; pinks and reds and whites. He turns off all the lights and marks the path to the kitchen with candles. He opens the porch doors and shoves the ring box in his pants pocket. The petals dance on the floor, scattering as the wind comes in and the candles flicker and when Mark comes in all Jackson hears is the click of the lock.

With his heart clogging his throat, Jackson pulls the box from his pants pocket and stands by the doorway with the ocean behind him, giving him a tempo to breathe to.

Mark’s in jeans, converse and a tee-shirt. His cap is backwards and his face is clean and the house is only lit by the moon and scattered candles and it’s just the two of them.

The moonlight softens Mark’s skin and he looks like… like Jackson’s everything.

“Please say something because I’m leaping to conclusions right now.”

So he gets down on one knee, pulls the box out, and thanks a lifetime of training for keeping his hand steady.

“Will you marry me?”

There are no cameras here. No guests. No fans. No one else. No special trip had been made. It’s just Mark and Jackson in a familiar place — _home_.

“ _Yes,_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late, the second half of the semester went up in flames
> 
> i really couldn't figure out what i wanted with this ending, and removed and re-added the ending proposal like a thousand times. but there was a point to keeping it :)
> 
> thank you everyone that read, kudos and commented! happy holidays and happy new year, bbs! see you later.


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